Deny
by SnarkyFanGirl
Summary: Hermione has cut herself off from the Wizarding world. After the deaths of her husband and her best friend, and seeing the ravages of war, she wants nothing more to do with magic. She manages to stay away from that world, the world of her past, until she
1. Chapter 1

**Deny**

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**SUMMARY:** Hermione has cut herself off from the Wizarding world. After the deaths of her husband and her best friend, and seeing the ravages of war, she wants nothing more to do with magic. She manages to stay away from that world, the world of her past, until she is asked to do something for an old friend.

**SPOILERS:** SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, QA, FB

**SHIPS:** Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Hermione stared down at the thick golden band that she wore on her left ring finger. It glinted in the waning sunlight as she turned it first one way, and then another. She dropped her hand to her lap and lifted her eyes to the horizon, where brilliant shades of orange and red stretched across the evening sky. It had been two years that she'd been married to Ron before he'd died, and somehow it seemed fitting to her that today, the anniversary of his departure, the sunset reflected so many hues of red.  
  
Without her realizing it, a wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She missed him, and she missed the laughter that he'd always brought into a room with him. Ironically enough, it wasn't the war with Voldemort that had finally been his undoing; it had been his own weak heart. One evening while they'd been outside working in the garden together, he'd suffered a heart attack. She'd done everything she could to revive him, but to no avail. His heart was simply too weak.  
  
They'd buried him on a Thursday, in the same small cemetery that Harry was buried in. She hadn't thought that she'd make it at the time; Harry's loss had been devastating for both of them, and they'd found solace in each other. Now that she'd lost both of the most important men in her life, she had no desire to have another relationship with another man.  
  
She'd been living apart from the Wizarding world since Ron had passed, and that had been four years ago. She wasn't happy - but then again, she hadn't been truly happy since her husband had died. She glanced down at the wedding band that she still wore, and then raised her eyes to the sky one final time before going inside her home and closing the door behind her.

She awoke to the sound of an insistent tapping on her window. Grumbling, she pulled the covers back over her head and rolled onto her side. When the tapping came again, more insistently this time, she sat straight up in bed and glared. Her look of anger quickly faded into one of panic. There, at the window, was a caramel-colored owl with a rolled-up parchment attached to its outstretched leg. She hesitated for a moment before rising from the bed and opening the window.   
She removed the parchment from the bird's leg and watched as it perched on her window. Inwardly she sighed. That meant that the bird's sender was expecting an answer, and expecting it quickly. She opened the parchment and scanned the page quickly, frowning as she read.   
_Miss Weasley,_   
_It has been a while since our last contact, but I am in a great hurry, so there aren't time for formalities within this letter. I need you to do something for me. The Ministry is trying to prosecute a member of the Order, and false evidence is being garnered in an attempt to put this person in Azkaban for good. I need someone to hide him until I can clear his name, which is proving to be an exceptionally difficult task. What I must ask from you is that you hide him for me for as long as it takes for me to clear his name. I know that what I'm asking you is difficult – to take in a total stranger – especially after your voluntary removal from the Wizarding community; but you must know that this is the only course of action we have at the present time _because_ of your detachment from all things magical. I shall await your response._

_With thanks,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione stared at the parchment as though it were a snake about to strike her. Could she really allow a stranger to come into her home and stay for an undetermined amount of time? And a male stranger, at that? She exhaled noisily and rummaged about for a pen. She already knew she would help Dumbledore, if for no other reason than Sirius' memory. She had always harbored a soft spot for innocent people being wrongfully persecuted. She found a pen and scribbled a quick response on the bottom of the parchment.

_Professor, _

_I'll be glad to help in any way I can. Just let me know when to expect him._

Hermione Weasley 

She rolled the parchment back up and handed it to the owl, who took off immediately. She stared out the window as she bit her fingernails down to the quick, ignoring the metallic taste of blood as she did so. She couldn't help but wondering if she had made the right decision; after being alone for so long, would she be able to tolerate another person in her home?

Two hours after she had sent the return owl to Dumbledore, there was a loud knock on her front door. With shaking hands, she unfastened the locks and opened the door. Her jaw dropped open as he stood there in the pouring rain, staring back at her.

"Well? Are you going to let me in, or not?" She closed her mouth and mutely stepped aside, watching as he brushed past her and into the sitting room. She closed the door and refastened the locks, ignoring the derisive snort that the gesture elicited from him.

She turned around and leaned her back against the front door, and stared unabashedly at him. He sat down in her favorite overstuffed armchair, wet cloak and all, and returned her gaze unflinchingly. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before she realized that her stomach was growling at her. She hadn't eaten all morning, and now it was nearly lunchtime. She tore her eyes away from his and headed to the kitchen.

He rose and followed her noiselessly, finally coming to rest in the doorway as he leaned against the doorjamb. She moved automatically, devoid of any thought, as she went about her task of preparing lunch. He wondered at her silence; it unnerved him. He had known that Dumbledore had not told her who she would be harboring when he'd asked her, and had been fully expecting some sort of outburst from her upon his arrival. When she had simply stared at him, he'd taken the opportunity to do the same and study her.

The last time he'd seen her had been during their tenure at Hogwarts. Back then she'd still had bushy hair and a burgeoning pubescent body, and she'd still been the know-it-all of the school. Time had obviously wrought changes on her – her once shiny hair was now dull and hung in limp waves down her back. The eyes that he remembered as being so full of spirit and life looked haunted now, and it gave her the appearance of someone much older than he knew her to be. Her body looked too small for the clothes it was in; she was thin and looked as though she was wasting away.

He frowned to himself as he watched her prepare the food. She filled two plates with it – one plate held a whole sandwich and sliced vegetables, while the other plate held only a few vegetables. She reached up to withdraw two glasses from the cabinet, and he winced. The hem of her shirt had ridden up as she reached, baring the lower part of her stomach and exposing her prominent ribs to him. He was relieved when she put her arms down, and watched as she poured two glasses of milk.

It was only then that he realized that she had not used magic at all since he'd come in. The lines of his frown deepened. Of course he'd been told that she no longer moved in circles of the Wizarding community, which was why Dumbledore had thought her home to be the safest place for him until everything could be straightened out. She picked up her own glass and plate and moved into the dining room with them.

He moved into the doorway of the dining room and folded his arms across his chest, staring at her. After she had bitten into a carrot stick and taken a drink of milk, she sighed.

"I'm not going to wait on you. You can carry your own food in here, unless you'd rather eat in the kitchen." When he said nothing and remained unmoved, she shrugged. "Fine." She took another bite of the carrot stick and forced it down with another drink of milk. When she had swallowed everything, she rose from the table and rinsed her things out in the sink. He watched as she did everything methodically, as though she had done it a million times in the past. When the dishes were in the strainer, she turned to him.

"You can have the bedroom down the hall. It's the last door on the left. The bathroom is across the hall from your room, and it's the only one, so we'll have to share it. You can use whatever you want – the television, the computer, the kitchen – whatever." With that, she brushed past him and went down the hallway. He watched as she disappeared behind a door, and sighed when he heard the soft _snap_ that meant she'd closed the door behind her.

Only then did he eat, and glance around at his surroundings. For all intents and purposes, this was going to be his prison for an undetermined amount of time. All he could do was try to endure it, and pray that Dumbledore found a way to clear his name soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione awoke to the sound of the television blaring in the other room. She winced as she threw her comforter aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled on her robe, huffing angrily the entire time, and drew it close around her before she stormed into the sitting room. Draco was sitting on the couch, remote in hand, staring at the telly.

"Do you _mind?"_ She asked, gritting her teeth. He gave her his trademark smirk.

"Not at all." He focused his attention back on the telly, and she stomped petulantly.

"I'm trying to bloody well _sleep_, Malfoy!" she snarled, her hair almost crackling with electricity from the anger that coursed through her. He pushed a button on the remote control, and the telly switched off.

"Sleep?" he asked incredulously, standing. "It's after two p.m.!"

"So?" She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toes against the floor impatiently. He rolled his eyes.

"I turned the damned thing off, what else do you want?"

"Peace and quiet!" she said, shifting her hands to her hips. "Perhaps it's time I laid down a few ground rules for you while you're staying here."

"Peace and quiet?" he snorted. "You mean you want this place to turn back into the funeral home it's been for the last four years?" She froze and her eyes widened, reflecting how startled she was.

"What?" she asked quietly, feeling her heart speed up. He smirked at her again – that damnable self-satisfied look that made her palms itch to slap it away.

"Don't think that you're alone here in your little corner of the world," he spat, his voice belying his bitterness. "People check in on you from time to time, believe it or not. It's no secret to anyone how you've become a recluse."

"Then why did Dumbledore want me to keep you here?" she retorted, stung by his words. He saw the emotion written across her face.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Weasley?" he bit out, ignoring her question. Her cheeks turned bright pink, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Save it," he snapped angrily, throwing the remote down on the sofa with more force than was necessary. She watched as he turned and went down the hallway, slamming the door to the guest room behind him.

When she was sure that he wasn't going to come back out, she sank down in the armchair that she favored and wept. How dare he? How dare he come here and invade the fragile peace that she'd managed to rebuild for herself? And how dare Dumbledore, especially if Malfoy spoke the truth and was having her checked on, send him here?

She cried until her throat was sore, then got up and went into the kitchen to get a drink to soothe the pain. She poured a half glass of milk, then sat down at the kitchen table with it. _Malfoy is wretched! He hasn't changed since Hogwarts_. _Then again,_ she mused silently, sipping the cool liquid, _He must have changed a little, to have joined the Order._

She let her mind wander, and curious thoughts filled her head. Why had he joined the Order? When? Was he trusted? Who was after him? Were they trying to kill him? Had he just given Dumbledore information, or had he done something else? She shook her head, trying to shake the questions away, but they remained. And they begged for answers.

She swore softly under her breath and placed the empty glass in the sink, wondering why she'd agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place.

* * *

Draco kicked the foot of the bed in frustration. The woman had never failed to bring out the worst in him, no matter what he tried. He'd tried meditation. He'd tried ignoring her. He'd even tried mood charms, but nothing worked. She irritated him to no end, and no matter how many barriers he tried, she always managed to get through to him.

He sat down heavily on the side of the bed and cradled his face in his hands. Perhaps not talking was the way around her, as yesterday he hadn't spoken to her, and she'd been somewhat civil.

He snorted.

After Voldemort had _Crucio_'d his father and Professor Snape to death for their failure on one of his missions, he had jumped ship from the Death Eaters and run straight to Dumbledore. Everyone had been surprised as hell, but to their credit, no one had said a thing to him. They were satisfied that he was the double agent and that it was _his_ neck on the line, not theirs – and he had been just as happy to stay away from them.

After all, it wasn't as though he'd actually _liked_ any of them. Unwelcome memories of the girl Weasel sprung to his mind unbidden, and he turned and buried his face in the pillow. Had it really only been two weeks ago that they'd been together? She'd offered her hand in friendship - secretly, of course – and for reasons he couldn't explain even if he tried, he'd accepted. Things had quickly morphed from friendship into much more, and he'd found himself falling in love with her.

Then someone had seen them together, and it blew his cover. Not only did it put him in jeopardy, it put _her_ in danger as well. He hadn't been able to protect her. In the end, no one had been able to save her. Voldemort learned of his treachery, and he'd ordered Ginny Weasley killed.

She'd been buried on a Thursday, and Draco had felt as though his heart had been buried with her. Now he was being hunted by the Death Eaters, and needed a sanctuary. For a solid week, he'd stayed at Grimmauld Place, believing it to be as safe as Dumbledore said it was. He'd been woken in the middle of the night and without a second thought, he'd disapparated, appearing just on the outskirts of Hogwarts' lawn. He'd rushed inside and straight to Dumbledore's office, where he'd broken down.

Now, here he was, stuck in _her_ house. When he thought about it, he guessed that they had a lot more in common than he'd originally wanted to believe. They'd both loved Weasleys, and they'd both buried their loved ones. He had to wonder, albeit grudgingly, if the hole in her heart was as big as the one in his.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to his chagrin, Draco awoke with a pounding headache. He stood and frowned as he made his way out of his room and towards the loo, trying to ignore the pain. As he entered the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione in the hallway as well. He stopped and turned to look at her.

"Did you have to use the loo first?" She stared silently at him. He shrugged and went inside. "I won't be long."

Hermione was still in the hallway when he emerged. He stared at her. "What? Is something wrong?"

"N-No," she stammered finally, shaking her head. "It's just..."

"What?" he asked, aggravated. "What have I done now?"

"Nothing! It's just that you were – you were –"

"Spit it out," he snapped.

"Polite," she breathed, frowning. Then she added, "Which you're not being now."

"It was a momentary lapse," he said, pushing past her. "Won't happen again." She followed him into the kitchen and put her hands on her hips.

"Look, you don't have to be so nasty about it! If you're going to be stuck here for any length of time, we're going to have to learn to deal with each other." He poured a cup of coffee silently, and then took a sip before he turned to look at her.

"You're right, of course. As usual. But I already have a plan." Her eyebrows shot up.

"You do?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised, Grang- Weasley," he corrected himself. "On occasion I have been known to formulate exceptional schemes."

"Of course," she said, shaking her head. "Well, what is it, then?"

"I'm going to ignore your existence, which you're going to return the favor and do for me, as well." Her mouth fell open.

"That is the stupidest plan I've ever heard in my entire life," she said. "And believe me, I've heard some stupid ones."

To her surprise, he grinned.

"I imagine you must have, what with spending all of your waking moments around Potter and Weasley." Her eyes narrowed.

"Let's get one thing straight right now, Malfoy. You will not utter one derogatory syllable about Harry or my husband – or any of the Weasleys, for that matter."

"Is that so?" he asked calmly, finishing off his coffee. He rinsed the mug out and placed it upside down on a tea towel to dry. She didn't have time to register her surprise at his cleanliness before he turned back to face her. "Let's get something else straight, while we're at it." He took several slow steps towards her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, an edge of hysteria in her voice. He kept advancing, and she kept stepping backwards, until her back was pressed against the wall and she couldn't move any further.

"I'm setting the record straight," he said, his eyes glittering strangely. "I couldn't care less what you and the Weasel had going on. I couldn't care less about poor, pathetic Harry Potter, going and sacrificing himself for the greater bloody good. What I do care about is the fact that you don't know me anymore, and I'm not going to let you stand there and think that you're any better than me, because you're not."

"What are you on about?" she asked, her voice rising.

"You know nothing about me," he hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits. "So don't condescend to speak to me as though I'm nothing more than the dirt beneath your shoes."

"What?" she screeched, her cheeks turning pink. "You started in on Harry and Ron, and I'm not going to let you just stand there and do it! Not in my house! And you won't say anything bad about any of the other Weasleys, either!"

"I won't," he conceded calmly, stepping away from her. She blinked. "But not because you told me not to." He turned his back to her.

"Then why?" she asked hesitantly. He froze for a moment.

Without turning around, he said, "Because I loved her." Before she could voice her astonishment, he was gone. She stared after him for a long time, pondering his words. He had to have meant Ginny – there was no one else he could possibly have been talking about. But the thought of Draco in love with Ginny Weasley made her stomach rumble uncomfortably.

What made her even more uncomfortable was the thought that Ginny might have returned his feelings.

* * *

It was past ten o'clock, and Draco hadn't emerged from his room since their confrontation in the kitchen – not even to eat or to use the loo. Hermione began to pace. She'd thought hard about what he'd said, and it still made her stomach roil uncomfortably to think about it.

But if what he said was true, then they had a common thread. She winced. They had more than that in common. They had both loved a Weasley, and both of their beloveds were gone. Draco may have thought that she was stupid, but she'd caught the past tense of the word "loved," and she knew what that meant. As sad as it made her, she knew what it meant.

Both of their loves were dead.

She sat down heavily on the sofa and put her head in her hands, trying to ignore the sharp spike of pain that shot through her every time she thought of Ron's death. Instead she tried to focus on Draco's situation. How had Ginny died? Had she been murdered? Oh, Merlin – had Draco been the one who'd killed her? The thought left just as quickly as it entered her mind. Dumbledore may be an old fool, but he would not be protecting Draco like this if he'd truly done something wrong.

She tried to picture Ginny wrapped in Draco's arms, but the image that came to her mind made her shudder. She fought down the bile that rose in her throat. She couldn't have loved him... could she? If she had loved him, it would have meant one of two things – either Draco had coerced her over to his side, or she'd coaxed him over to theirs.

If Draco had joined the Order, though, why hadn't Dumbledore told her in his letter? She frowned. He hadn't told her who she'd be harboring, so why should he have told her that? She knew in her heart of hearts that if he'd told her it was Draco he was referring to, even if he had told her that he was part of the Order now, that she would have refused to help him. There was too much bad blood between them to forgive so easily.

Then again, he had been in her house for almost three days now, and he hadn't necessarily tried to start any fights. With a start, she realized that she'd done that herself. Shame flooded through her. Even if she didn't like him, that was no reason to intentionally pick a fight. The worst thing he'd done since he'd been there was to turn the telly on at a loud volume, and that could be attributed to the fact that he'd never been around one to know what was considered too loud for most people.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of his footsteps moving through the hallway. She looked up just as he entered the room, and saw that his eyes were red and puffy. When he met her eyes, he turned as though to return to his room. She stood quickly.

"Wait," she said softly. He stopped, but did not turn around. She shuffled her feet nervously. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," he admitted.

"What do you like?" She moved towards the kitchen. "I don't have a lot, but I'm sure I can find something you like." He turned and stared at her back as she disappeared into the kitchen, and after a moment's hesitation, followed her.

"You don't have to pretend to be nice to me just because of what I said."

"I'm not pretending."

He arched a suspicious eyebrow. "Then why?"

"We have something in common now," she explained quietly, rummaging through her pantry closet.

"So everything's all right because of it?" he asked, his voice tinged with anger. "They both die and we're suddenly friends?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. You're smarter than that. Think about it." He glared at her.

"Explain." She turned to face him, visibly flustered.

"Look, we're not suddenly friends. I still don't like you, and you still don't like me. But we're stuck here together for a while, so we're going to have to put up with each other. If you want to ignore me, that's fine. I just thought that –"her voice trailed off.

"Thought what? That we'd be bosom buddies?"

"No!" she stomped her foot angrily, and his trademark smirk returned.

"It is," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "That's what you thought, isn't it? That now that we share something in common, we'd be friends."

"No!" she said again, narrowing her eyes. "I just thought that if you needed someone to talk to about it, you could." She turned her back to him and went back to looking for something to eat. His expression softened a bit, and he folded his arms over his chest, and stared at the floor.

"She always told me that you were her best friend," he said softly. She froze, then turned to look at him incredulously.

"What?"

"She used to talk about you and her brother all the time," he admitted, still not meeting her eyes. "She missed you." Hermione's lower lip trembled, and she stared down at her feet.

"I missed her, too. After Ron died, I just couldn't bring myself to leave the house. I couldn't bear to see her, or anyone else in his family, for that matter. They all reminded me of him – of what I'd lost." A pregnant silence loomed between them until he spoke again.

"I don't want to be friends, Weasley." Disappointment that she couldn't explain flooded her and her chest constricted.

"I know." He sighed. Ginny was still private for him; talking any more about her felt like he was sharing her, and that was something that he didn't want to do. He hadn't even told Dumbledore everything, and the old man was his closest ally right now.

"But thanks for trying." Her head snapped up and she eyed him carefully, searching for any trace of non-sincerity. When she found none, she nodded slowly.

"Well, if you ever change your mind... I'm here."

"I know." She went back to fixing dinner, and he went into the other room.


	4. Chapter 4

He was totally absorbed in some sort of reality show on the telly when she brought in the tray of food for him and sat it on the coffee table in front of him. He looked down at the contents of the tray and blinked before eyeing her suspiciously.

"What?" she asked innocently. He picked up the glass full of purple liquid and sniffed gingerly. Instantly she looked offended. "You think I'd poison you?"

"Why are you giving me wine?" He lifted the rim of the glass to his lips and sipped slowly.

"I just thought that..." She cleared her throat and fought the blush that rose into her cheeks under his intense gaze. "I just thought that maybe you drank it with dinner when you lived at home. I mean, you said something about it once at Hogwarts, and I thought it might be a nice change." He arched an eyebrow at her.

"A nice change?"

"Okay, it's my way of apologizing for picking a fight with you earlier," she admitted, averting her eyes. To her surprise, he chuckled before taking a long drink.

"Plying me with liquor to get me to talk to you – really, it's something a Slytherin might have done. Except that traditionally we lace the wine with Veritaserum."

"Oh, naturally," she said, nodding. His hand froze and he turned to look at her.

"You put -?"

"What? Oh!" she shook her head. "Oh, no. I don't keep magical things in my home." He looked relieved and went back to drinking. "But Ron always did." Draco began to choke on the drink he'd just swallowed, and she giggled as she went for some napkins in the kitchen. She sat across from him and tossed them to him.

"You almost had me," he admonished, shaking his head. "Besides, it would be beneath you to be so sneaky. I expect that you'll come up with something more creative to get me to talk to you, since I can tell you really want me to."

"No, I understand your need to keep things about her private," she admitted, sipping from her mug of cocoa. "I don't like talking about my life with Ron to anyone. He was mine, and I don't fancy sharing." His head snapped up and he stared at her intently. "Isn't that what's keeping you from it?"

"Something like that," he said, nodding. She blew gently into her mug, and he ate slowly. He didn't stop her when she refilled his wineglass twice; she was right – it had been a long time since he'd had wine. He used to have it with dinner every night before his father was murdered, but since then, it was too much of a luxury, and he could not afford luxuries with the small amount of money he had to live on.

He watched as Hermione cleared his empty dinner plate and went into the kitchen. He listened as she washed the plate and the cutlery he'd just used, and shook his head. So Weasley's death had made her obsessive-compulsive about washing things? At least she wasn't constantly washing her hands, he thought. When she re-entered the room and resumed her spot in the armchair, he glanced over at her and cringed. Her hands were red and chapped from being over-washed.

He didn't want to know anything about Hermione. Knowing that she was obsessive-compulsive and starved herself was already too much truth for him to digest. The truth was that he was dying for someone to talk to, and anyone would do at this point. How fortuitous, then, that he should be placed in the company of someone who shared pain that was so exquisitely close to his own. Perhaps he should rethink talking to her tonight – but was there a way to talk to her without hearing "I told you so?"

"Feeling the Veritaserum taking effect," he said calmly. Her eyes shot up, and he almost laughed at the confusion that filled them. "Ask away." He relaxed back into the cushions.

"But I told you, I didn't-"

"Bollocks," he said, closing his eyes. "Ask away, before it stops working." Her eyebrows shot up. He'd said he didn't want to be friends, and said he hadn't wanted to talk about Ginny, but here he was, offering her whatever information she wanted. It was there for the taking.

"How did she die?" Her soft question cut straight to the quick.

"I should have thought that you'd ask how we met, or how we fell in love, or something along those lines. Didn't expect you to go straight for the jugular. It's called subtlety, Weasley, and you used to have some." She blushed.

"You're part of the Order, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's how you met. And I suspect that falling in love with Ginny was easy since she was probably the only one who believed that you'd turned." His mouth fell open.

"How in the bloody hell-?"

"She always did have a soft spot for you after my fifth year," she confessed, giving him a wry smile. He blinked.

"She did?"

"I found out by accident. Harry had given us both journals for Christmas that year, and they looked identical. I picked hers up once by mistake," she said, shrugging.

"And you _read_ it?"

"I'm not a saint," she said, staring into her mug. "And I was curious."

"And she wrote about me?"

"A little bit. She wrote something about how you seemed different to her, and then it switched tone in the middle of the entry and she started-"she stopped talking and cleared her throat. "Well, that was the part where I stopped reading."

"She wrote naughty bits about me?" he asked, highly amused. Hermione's cheeks went from pink to scarlet. "And you _read_ them! Oi, I have underestimated you. You would have done just fine in Slytherin. That saucy little minx! She never told me that."

"I don't expect that she would," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. "Considering how big your ego already is, and all that. She probably didn't want to tell you and inflate it anymore."

"Oh, that thing," he said, sighing. "My ego. No, somehow I misplaced that when I ran away to join the Order. Misplaced it right along with my pride."

"Why would joining the Order make you lose your pride?" she asked curiously.

"You're joking, right?" She shook her head. He pointed to himself. "Son of a known Death Eater here, remember? To my father, Dumbledore embodied evil."

"Right," she said. Then she burst into raucous laughter. Startled, he watched her giggle until she was breathless. "Sorry," she said after she'd regained her breath. "I just- Dumbledore, evil? By your father?"

"Anyway," he said pointedly, trying to steer the conversation away from his father. "Gin and I became involved not too long ago. You're right; she was the only one who trusted me at first. And she was loyal, even though she had no reason to be. Walked into a meeting one night and overheard her defending me to some other less trustful members. And that was sort of it for us."

"Not really as romantic as I'd hoped," Hermione said, smiling. "But more or less what I expected."

"We started, ah, having relations, as it were," he said, struggling for the words. She suppressed a giggle at his old-fashioned terminology. "But then I made a mistake. I got too comfortable with her, and I wanted to show her off. Wanted the world to know that she was _my_ girl. Got messy. We were seen together, and the Dark Lord ordered her killed."

"Oh," she breathed, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Dumbledore tried to keep me from her and tried to keep me from seeing her body, but I just barged in. They really did a number on her. My poor girl suffered, because she was with me."

"Oh, Malfoy," she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And I've no one to blame but myself." He downed the remnants of his wine and clenched his jaw. "And now you know."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Bloody well was."

"It was not. Ginny had to have known that when you came to the Order, you'd be making powerful enemies. She had to know the risks of getting involved with you, and she did it anyway. She wasn't a stupid girl, Malfoy. You can't believe that you shoulder all of the blame for her death."

"How can you say that?" he asked, glaring at her. Her form was blurred through the tears that flooded his eyes. "I'm your enemy, too. You should hate me. Rage at me, wail at me, let loose. I got your friend killed."

"Is that why you think I wanted to know? So I could have a reason to hex you into oblivion? As if I'd need a reason?" He stared at the floor, and something occurred to her. "Or is it what you'd _hoped _for?"

"I don't hope for anything," he said flatly, rising from the sofa. "Thanks for dinner." She didn't try to stop him as he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

Breakfast had never been her strong suit, but she was determined to make the best of it this morning. She flipped the bacon, hissing every time the grease popped out of the pan and onto her skin. She'd done fairly well so far – at least half of the cooked bacon was edible, which was more than she could say for the eggs that she'd tried to poach. She picked a cold egg up and squeezed it in her palm.

"I guess I could use a flat bouncing ball," she mused out loud to herself.

"Who are you talking to?" She dropped the egg in surprise. When she realized it was just Draco, she felt foolish and retrieved the egg from the floor, hoping he hadn't seen it. "And what in Circe's name is _that_?"

"Uhm... failed experiment?" she offered. He arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. "A really, _really_ failed experiment?"

"Breakfast not really one of your better meals, I take it," he commented, moving straight to the coffee pot. She sighed and tossed the egg into the waste can.

"You don't know how right you are," she mumbled, moving back in front of the frying pan. The grease sizzled and popped, landing right on her hand, causing an ugly red mark to appear. In the next moment, the frying pan was nowhere in sight. Draco did a double take before sitting his mug on the counter and inspecting the stove. It was still hot.

"What the hell did you just do? And how did you do it?"

"What?" she asked, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

"The pan, woman! Where in the bloody hell is it, and how did you get rid of it without a wand? And since when do you start using magic again?"

"I-I don't know," she stammered, looking down at her hand. There were no marks on it.

"Does this happen a lot?" he asked, inspecting her hand.

"I don't know," she repeated, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"Do things disappear when you get angry?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But I always thought it was just because I was aggravated, and that they were somewhere else in the house, and I couldn't find them and that was why I was angry to begin with."

"I'll catch that logic train when it circles back around to me," he said, his eyes roaming around the kitchen in search of the frying pan. "Have you ever found anything that you've lost that way?"

"Once," she said, nodding. His eyes darted back to her.

"Where was it?"

"Right where I'd seen it last."

"So if we smell bacon burning anytime soon, I suppose we'll know where the pan is, won't we?" he asked wryly. She sighed. "Now what I want to know is how you manage to do this wandless magic, and better yet, I want to know how it is that it's been flying under everyone's magic radar."

"What are you nattering on about?" she asked, annoyed.

"There are magic monitors around this house. Dumbledore has had them here for quite some time, apparently. They're checked on a daily basis, and they've never once registered any sort of magic use."

"Dumbledore is monitoring me?" Her voice had an edge of disbelief to it.

"When did you learn how to do wandless magic?"

"I didn't," she said, frowning. He stared at her. "What? I didn't!"

"Obviously you did, since you can do it."

"I didn't even know I _was_ doing it, remember?" she pointed out, her hands on her hips.

"Right." He thought for a moment, and then turned to her. "Can you teach me how to do it?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Teach you to do it?" she echoed dumbly. "How can I teach you to do something when I don't even know how I've done it, or if I can control it?"

"It's controllable," he said decisively. "I've read about it before, and I know you must have come across it in your studies as well." The pink color of her cheeks confirmed his suspicions.

"Yes, in theory it can be controlled – but it's only ever been studied in depth once, and the wizard died before the studies could be completed!"

"How long have you been doing it? Think hard."

Hermione frowned as she tried to remember. "I think it started right after Ron... well, after he was gone. At least, I think that's right. I don't remember it happening before."

"Induced by an extreme emotional state," Draco murmured. "Do you have a quill and parchment?"

"No, but I have a pen and paper."

"Just give me something to write on." Hermione went into the small room she used as a study and retrieved a pen and a pad of paper from her desk drawer, then handed them to Draco, who was sitting at the kitchen table. He began scribbling furiously on the paper.

"You think that the magic was activated because of my grief over Ron's death?"

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. He finished scribbling something, and then met her eyes. "I think it was jump started as a result of your anger over his death."

"Oh," she said quietly, sinking into the chair across from him.

"What I can't understand is why your accidental magic isn't showing up on anyone's radar. The Dark Lord would have known, and Dumbledore would have been aware. He would have stopped you by now if he could see it, because if he could see it, he would have deduced that Voldemort could, too. How is it that you manage it undetected?"

"Isn't wandless magic a form of ancient magic? That would explain why it isn't being detected."

"Or else your power is just too weak right now to set off any detectors," he mused, writing something else down. She frowned at him.

"Since when are you so logical, and why are you being so nice to me?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Weasley," he said distractedly, still writing. "You know that I finished school only second to you."

"Fine, then explain the nice thing." He pursed his lips and was quiet for a long time. Finally, the pen paused just above the paper.

Without looking up, he said, "I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Can't."

"Why? You don't want to tell me, or you don't know?"

"I don't know, all right?" he let out a growl of frustration and glared at her. "You know, you used to respect people in the midst of scholarly work."

"You know, you didn't used to afford anyone that courtesy." She folded her arms over her chest, and waited for him to fire off another insult. Instead, he just looked back down at the paper.

"You're right."

"I am?" she looked surprised, then covered it quickly. "I mean, I know I am."

"Where are all of your books?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"In my study."

"No, the magic-related books."

"I got rid of them."

"Bollocks. Where are they?" Her cheeks turned pink.

"I told you."

"You're lying. Even if you didn't want to study them or look at them anymore, you would never get rid of them. It's not in your nature." She looked embarrassed and sighed.

"In the attic."

"And you didn't think that keeping all of your magical books and items in the attic would kick up some sort of magical disturbance at some point?" he asked, rising from his chair. "Power of that kind doesn't store well."

"I charmed all of the storage boxes," she admitted hesitantly. He nodded and went into the family room, his eyes searching the ceiling for the door to the attic.

"I suspected. Dumbledore led me to believe that you'd gotten rid of all of your magical things, but I knew he must have been misled. You could no sooner ignore magic than you could ignore anything in the Muggle world. It's too much a part of you."

Hermione froze where she stood and stared after him, her mouth open in surprise. That was the first time that she'd ever heard him refer to her Muggle heritage without using foul or demeaning language, and it was like a shock to her system. It was also the first time that he'd ever insinuated that it was okay for her to use magic, or that she was born with magical abilities, just like a pureblooded witch.

"Spot on," he murmured from the end of the hallway. She looked up in time to see him pull the string, and the ladder that led to the attic unfolded. He went up, but she didn't follow. She needed to sit down and think about what was happening.

He seemed to be impressed with the idea that she might be able to do wandless magic. Could it be a good thing for both of them to get involved in? A research project might be just the thing for the both of them to throw themselves into and become absorbed in; it would definitely give him respite from Ginny's death, and that _had_ to be a good thing, right?

Besides, it might do her some good to get back in sync with the magical world. She'd been gone a long time, and this might be her window of opportunity. She couldn't lie to herself; she'd been itching more and more lately to do magic again. She missed it. Draco was right – magic was a part of her, and she'd always known subconsciously that she would embrace it again someday. She just hadn't thought that that day would come so soon.

And maybe this "project" would get Draco to talk to her some more about Ginny, and what had been going on in the world since she'd removed herself from it. She wanted to be his friend – she just wanted a friend, period, and he was the closest warm body. He had been civil to her today, and they'd been getting along, although with their very different personalities, she wasn't sure how long the peace would last.

Better take advantage of it while she could.

She moved into the study and sat down at the computer desk. She logged on to a magical database she'd found before Ron had died, and began to search using the key words "wandless magic."

"Weasley? Where are you?" his voice drifted in from the hallway.

"Study," she called back. Moments later, he entered the room, carrying a large cardboard box.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously, eyeing the magical symbols on the monitor.

"Searching for information on wandless magic. There's more than I would have thought, but I think a lot of it is facetious."

"Well, with the sort of drivel that people post on the Internet, you can hardly expect to have every hit be completely on kilter." She turned in her chair and stared at him in amazement. He frowned. "What?"

"You know about the Internet?"

"Again with the insulting my intelligence," he sighed, his frown deepening. "It's something of a habit for you to think that you're always the smartest person in the room, isn't it? You'll have to outgrow that while I'm here, you know. Yes, Weasley, I am familiar with the Internet. Hell, I even know how to navigate it, to a degree."

"I didn't mean to insult your intelligence," she apologized. "I just didn't think you'd be familiar with a computer, much less the Internet, especially since your father didn't like Muggles or Muggle devices."

"He didn't like them. That didn't mean that we didn't familiarize ourselves with them. He thought it was a good strategy to know what our enemy had, and how to use the tools they created, even if it was only to use their tools against them."

"Shrewd," she commented dryly, turning back to the screen. He shrugged. "So how do we know that Voldemort doesn't use the Internet, and therefore have access to all of the same information that we do?"

"We don't know that," he said, moving to stand behind her. He bent over a bit and looked over her shoulder at the screen.

"That's really annoying," she said.

"You'll live."

"_You're_ annoying," she breathed, her fingers flying over the keys smoothly.

"Again, you'll live."

"Prat."

"Wench."

"What are you, five years old?" she demanded, her anger spiking.

"Hey, you're the one who started in with the name calling, remember?"

"Well, you didn't have to continue it!"

"You mean, pass up an opportunity to egg you on and bother you? Never happen."

"I forgot that I'd rather spend an eternity negotiating with a Runespoor than ever spend more than five minutes alone with you," she mumbled, printing out a particularly helpful article.

"You're just afraid that you're going to give in to your attraction to me." She turned and gaped at him, her eyes round and as wide as saucers. "What? It was a joke, Weasley!"

"I do not, in _any_ way, shape, or form, find you in the least bit attractive."

"The feeling is more than mutual, I assure you."

"Good." She turned back to face the monitor.

"So explain to me the charms that you used on these boxes."

"What does it matter?" she asked, swiveling in her chair again. "We can't cast the counterspells to them because the magic would be detected."

He frowned. "Unless you used your wandless magic to do it."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I can't control it?" she asked exasperatedly.

"You're just going to have to learn, then."

"How? Since you seem to have all of the answers, how?"

"Lots of hard work. Which basically consists of me aggravating you to the point of heightened emotion, at which point something will either disappear or you'll manage to open these boxes."

"So your brilliant plan is just to pester me to death?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"It's already starting to work. You're incredibly annoying."

"Excellent. Just focus that angry energy at reversing the charms you put on these boxes."

"It'd be a lot more fun to magic you into oblivion," she snapped.

"I'm sure it would, but then who would you have to keep you company and burn breakfasts for?" She fought to keep the smile away from her face, but it was an uphill battle. He saw her smile and grinned to himself as he turned away from her. It wouldn't do to become friends with her; they had too many differences, and besides that, when he was able to leave here, he planned to do just that – and never look back.


	6. Chapter 6

It was almost two thirty in the morning when Hermione decided that she was hungry. She and Draco had been up arguing most of the night, and she hadn't really had anything more to eat than a turkey sandwich. She frowned as she got out of bed and pulled her robe on. Usually she didn't even finish a whole sandwich, let alone crave more to eat after she'd gone to bed.

She tied the robe closed and opened her door gently, trying to make as little noise as possible. She was grateful when she peered into the hallway and saw that Draco's door was closed. She tiptoed down the hallway and opened the refrigerator, looking for something that sounded good to eat. She was about to reach for the cheese when his voice startled her from behind.

"I didn't think you ever got hungry," he said, his voice thick with amusement. She sighed as he turned on the light.

"All right, so I don't eat as much as you," she said, shrugging. She put the cheese on the table and went to look for the bread. "I've never eaten as much as any of the men I've known. What are you doing up, anyway? I thought you were oh so tired."

"I was. Fell asleep for about twenty minutes, and then woke up with a growling stomach. Obviously I'm not the only one."

"I don't understand it," she admitted, pulling two slices of bread out of the bag. She started to put the cheese on top of one slice when he stopped her. "What?"

"You can't just eat a dry cheese sandwich," he said incredulously. He took the bread and cheese to the stove and pulled the butter out of the fridge. She watched as he began making grilled cheese. "And you're hungry because you don't eat right. You look like a skeleton."

She blinked. "I do not!"

"You do, and you know it. I think you like it – you probably consider it some sort of penance for yourself, for his death."

"I do not!" she protested, tears stinging her eyes. "You don't know me well enough to pass that kind of judgement!"

"I do know you," he said calmly, as he flipped a sandwich in the frying pan. "We spent seven years together at school, remember?"

"Just because you made fun of my Muggle heritage and my friends in school doesn't mean that you know me."

"Fine," he said, turning around with the spatula still in his hand. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm wrong, then." She tilted her chin up defiantly and met his eyes, and instantly deflated. "See?" He turned back to the stove and began to plate the sandwiches.

"Anyone who knew anything about me could make that assessment," she said softly. "Just because you thought it doesn't mean anything." He sat a plate in front of her, then sat down across from her at the table with his own plate.

"You keep telling yourself that," he said, biting into his sandwich. She sat back and stared at him. He rolled his eyes and nodded towards her food. "That's not going to eat itself, you know."

"And?"

"Look," he said, catching some oozing cheese with his fingertip. "We spent seven years at Hogwarts together – I think I learned how to exploit your weaknesses pretty well – or at least, well enough to always get a reaction out of you. It isn't difficult to unnerve someone who wears their heart on their sleeve."

She looked down at the sandwich and saw that he'd cut it in half for her.

"You didn't kill him, and you weren't responsible for his death. He died of natural causes, didn't he? At least, that's what Gin told me. So now the question becomes, why are you refusing to eat anything more than the smallest amount you can survive on? I think we both know why."

"Why is that?" she asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

"You're doing penance for the fact that you're still alive, and he's not." Her eyes shot up to stare at him in surprise. He wasn't looking at her; he was polishing off his very messy sandwich.

"And how would you know that?"

"My mother did the same thing," he admitted, sucking cheese off of his fingers. "She punished herself for my father being gone, and her still having the rest of her life in front of her."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, her expression softening. "I'm so sorry to hear that." He shrugged, and then met her eyes.

"Everyone makes their own choices about how they live their life, Weasley. You of all people should know that. If you've set your sights on starving yourself indefinitely, then you'll succeed at it. But you know that you couldn't have saved him." He picked up his plate and washed it off, then put it away and went back to bed.

It was only then that Hermione began to eat.

* * *

She awoke with her stomach growling so loudly that she was sure Draco could hear it in his bedroom. She had time to ponder her change in appetite as she showered and dressed. Had her body kept the hunger at bay this entire time, or had it just developed when she'd gotten a new project to work on? She'd always loved doing research, and she hadn't done it in such a long time – perhaps this research with Draco was just what her body needed to get itself back to normal.

She made her way slowly down the hallway and went straight into the kitchen, where she smelled something burning. Her eyes widened as she took in the frying pan full of charred bacon. She had just picked it up and dumped it in the trash can when Draco came running in, shirtless and with his hair flying in several different directions.

"What's going on? Is something burning?"

"The frying pan has just resurfaced," she said, holding it up and giving him an apologetic smile. His eyebrows shot up.

"So it has," he murmured, staring at it. "What were you just thinking about?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Maybe your thoughts can provide us with another emotional link, and clue us in on the way you get things to reappear."

"Oh," she said quickly, nodding. She didn't want to tell him that she'd been thinking about their research before the pan had reappeared – she didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What were you thinking about? Was it Weasley?"

"Oh! Yes, yes it was Ron," she lied. He cocked his head to one side and studied her face carefully, as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. Finally he nodded and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Makes sense," he murmured. "You're agitated by his death, and things disappear. You think happy thoughts of him, and things reappear. Better make a note of it." He turned and went into the study and began scribbling on his notepad. She sighed and dropped the pan in the sink, then opened the fridge.

"Hungry?" he asked, reentering the room, notepad in hand. She jumped, startled, and he chuckled. "Great Circe's Ghost, you'd think you had no idea I was here."

"I knew you were here," she said defensively. "It's just still a sort of a shock to the system to hear you being civil to me."

"Oh, that," he sighed, pushing past her to the refrigerator. He withdrew several eggs. "I thought about what you said, and you're right. We're going to have to work together on this wandless magic thing, so we'd better get along, for a while anyway." He cracked the eggs open and began frying them.

She sat down at the table and stared at him. "So why are you cooking everything now, too? Is that part of the temporary peace treaty?"

"No. I just figured that if either one of us wanted edible food, I'd better take over the cooking." She frowned.

"My cooking is not that bad." He turned and leveled a glare of epic proportions at her, causing her cheeks to feel warm. "So I'm not the best cook in the world! My food is still edible!"

"Barely," he quipped, turning back to the stove.

"So I'm no Molly Weasley," she said, more to herself than to him. To her surprise, he snorted.

"That you're not."

"You had Molly's cooking?" she asked, surprised.

"I was sleeping with her daughter," he reasoned. "And she suspected it. So they had me over for dinner a few times, and yeah, I had her cooking."

"What did you think?" she asked curiously.

"I know now why the Weasleys were constantly eating," he said lightly, sliding the fried eggs onto plates. She smiled and watched as he made toast. "That woman was a powerhouse." She could hear the note of sadness that entered his voice, and wondered at it.

"You liked her."

"I never said that," he denied, sitting her food in front of her.

"But you did."

"Liked both of Gin's parents," he confessed, wrapping his slender fingers around his mug of coffee. "Thought they liked me too, but that didn't stop them believing the very worst of me when it really counted."

"You can't fault them for that," she said gently. "Their entire lives, they fought against your father and everything he stood for, and they thought that you were a carbon copy of him. You couldn't expect them to just forget all of that at a moment's notice, could you?"

"Their daughter did."

"Ginny was an exceptional person, Malfoy. She never wanted to believe the worst of anybody, and she gave people second, third, and sometimes even fourth chances. She had a big heart. Not everyone is like her, not even the people who raised her." He didn't respond, just met her eyes over the rim of his mug. She cleared her throat.

"Thanks for the eggs, they look great."

"Right."

"Where did you learn to cook? And using Muggle devices, no less?" She shoveled bites of egg in between her words. He grimaced.

"Where did you learn table manners?" he asked scathingly. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?"

She responded by opening her mouth wide and showing him a large portion of partially chewed eggs. He couldn't help himself, and laughed.

"I learned to cook after I left home," he said. "And I never used magic, because I didn't want to be found. So there you have it."

"It's good," she said, suddenly feeling inexplicably shy. She finished the eggs and sipped at her juice, wondering at the changes time had wrought in them both. If anyone had ever told her that she'd be sitting at her own kitchen table, eating peacefully a meal that Draco Malfoy had prepared for her, she would have laughed them into oblivion. Yet here they were, sitting at the table in a comfortable shared silence, just like an old married couple.

Her eyes widened and her throat constricted. Had she really just thought that? She must be getting too comfortable with him already to be having such thoughts, and the truth of the matter was that she was uncomfortable with the ease with which the thought had popped unbidden into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. She opened her eyes and nodded, although she was very careful to avoid his eyes.

"Fine, I was just – I just remembered a nightmare I had once." His frown deepened, but he said nothing.

"Are we ready to get to work on cracking those charms?" he asked.

"Actually, I need to go to the grocer's today. We're running low on supplies."

"That sounds good. It'd be nice to get out of here." She gaped at him.

"You want to go?"

"You think I want to stay cooped up in here? Of course I want to go."

"But you'd be out in public with _me._"

"Don't be idiotic. No one in the Muggle world is going to recognize me, let alone marvel at the fact that two enemies are out shopping together."

"Oh, right," she said breathily. So he wouldn't be accompanying her if they were hiding in the Wizarding world, because being seen with her would ruin his reputation. Then again, if he had been able to hide in the Wizarding world, he wouldn't be here with her now.

"I should probably still wear some sort of disguise though, shouldn't I?" he mused to himself. "Do you think we could stop by some sort of boutique, so I could buy some other clothes?" For the first time since he'd arrived, she realized that he'd been wearing the same black jeans and long-sleeved shirt every day.

"Do you have much in the way of money?" she asked. His cheeks colored.

"I had thought that Dumbledore would give you some sort of funding to support me while I was here," he said quietly. It was clear to her that he didn't like being so dependant on someone else, and that he wasn't used to it, either. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Don't worry about it. Get whatever you need, and I'll discuss reimbursement with you when you get out of here." He looked grateful for a split second, and then his cool façade returned.

"Of course. You're going to need a lot in the way of edible provisions, as well," he said, nodding towards the pantry. "I think we've used just about everything." She gasped and went to the pantry, where she yanked the door open.

"How can everything be gone? This pantry was almost overflowing with food before-"she stopped herself and frowned. She'd been about to say "before Ron died." Draco eyed her thoughtfully.

"Time passes quicker than you expect it to." She turned to give him a look of surprise, but he had already gone into the other room.

* * *

Draco had begged, cajoled, and finally threatened her in an effort to make her hand over the car keys. She would not budge and she drove them into town, all the while listening to him grumble and complain about her driving like a snail. It was all she could do not to laugh until her stomach hurt. He truly was full of surprises; she hadn't expected that he would know anything about any Muggle inventions, let alone _want_ to operate any of them.

When she had pulled into a parking space and turned the car off, he frowned. "Where are we? This doesn't look like a boutique or a grocer's to me." She snorted. Perhaps he wasn't as educated on Muggle culture as she thought he was.

"It's a mall." Famous last words, she thought. He jumped out of the car and headed inside, and it was all she could do to keep up with him from that point. He was in and out of stores so quickly that it made her head spin. He was in raptures in the food court. He loved the three new pairs of blue jeans that she bought him. He adored the new sweaters she paid for. And the thing he seemed to like best of all were his five new pairs of shoes. When she protested that he didn't need so many different pairs, he'd pouted at her. _Pouted!_

The saleslady had nearly swooned.

In an effort to prevent the teenaged girls working in the shoe store from mobbing her, she'd bought the shoes without further protestation. At least he hadn't made her carry any of the bags, she reasoned. She stopped at a small shop that sold cookies and asked him if he wanted anything.

"Whatever you're having," he said distractedly, rifling through one of his bags. She rolled her eyes and ordered two chocolate chip cookies and two sodas. When she handed him his cookie, his eyes widened. The cookie was twice as big as his palm. She sipped from her straw and ate the cookie quietly. "Why didn't Ginny tell me about malls?"

"She probably knew how you'd react."

"All the more reason to tell me. She would have had the privilege of being seen shopping with me. We would have been in public together."

"Again, probably another reason she didn't tell you." He frowned at her, and she giggled.

"And since when do you like places like this?" he wondered, taking the lid off of his soda and drinking. "You're a recluse."

"I've never been big on malls," she admitted.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"I don't know," she lied, avoiding eye contact. She knew exactly why she'd brought him to the mall; had known that he'd been in hiding for quite some time, from the way he spoke and the way he acted around her. She knew that getting out would be good for him – not to mention that she knew how much care he'd always taken in his appearance, and she knew that he would enjoy indulging in this way. It was the only way she could think of to show him that she understood.

She understood the solitude and the constant feeling of being punished even though you hadn't done anything wrong.

They finished their sweets in silence, then left the mall and headed to the grocery store. Hermione was amazed at Draco's enthusiasm for shopping, no matter what he was shopping for. He squeezed fresh fruits and vegetables, he avoided canned foods for the most part, and he carefully inspected every meat that the store had on display. They left the store laden with more groceries than she'd purchased since Ron's death.

He disappeared the moment they returned to her home, heading towards his room with his new clothes. She carried the food into the kitchen and began putting things away, still marveling at his shopping ability. Ron had never been one for shopping, even for food. He had been more of a homebody, wanting to stay home with her and snuggle on the sofa in front of the telly. Actually, he liked doing anything, as long as they were both in the same room. She smiled to herself as she put the meat in the fridge, unaware that she was being quietly observed.

He'd gone into the room he occupied, intent on trying on every last article of clothing he'd just been treated to, when a thought struck him. She didn't like malls, yet she'd taken him to one. She didn't like shopping, that was painfully obvious when all she did was follow him from store to store and pay for things – yet she'd gone. This puzzled him. She didn't know him well, and they weren't friends. Why go to such lengths to please him?

It must be in her nature. Damned Gryffindor nobility, he thought, amused. She'd given selflessly so he could enjoy himself. And he had, damn it! It had been a long time since he'd been able to walk around like a free man; like the free man he _used_ to be. It felt good, and he wanted to thank her somehow. He cursed silently – that Gryffindor nobility would rub off on him, if he wasn't careful.

He would thank her the only way he knew how at present – he would cook for her. It surprised him that she hadn't balked at the price tags of anything he'd wanted at any of the stores, and it made him curious as to how much money she had. He'd never known her to be anything but sensible, and he had to face it, most of the things he had gotten her to purchase were anything _but_ sensibly priced.

He watched her put the groceries away, and was caught totally off guard when she smiled suddenly. He wondered what she was thinking about, then realized that she already looked better than she had four days ago when he'd shown up, dripping wet, on her doorstep. She didn't look like her old self, and he wondered if she ever would again, but she definitely looked better. Her skin wasn't looking as sallow, and the dark circles under her eyes were lighter than they had been. She was still far too skinny, but he knew that if she kept eating his cooking, that would be solved in time.

She started to put away the rack of lamb he'd chosen when he stopped her. "Don't put that away – I need to start on it soon." She looked startled, but left the meat on the counter. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded.

"Right, well I'll leave you to the kitchen, then. I'm going to go take a shower, and then I'll try my hand at a bit more research." He nodded, and she left the kitchen.

Close to two hours later, a very sweaty Draco appeared in the doorway of the study. Hermione was sitting at the desk, taking notes from a very large, dusty book in front of her. She was freshly scrubbed and he could smell the floral scent of her soap from the doorway. For a split second, he wondered why he hadn't smelt it the last few days after she'd showered, but then he dismissed the thought.

"Dinner's ready," he said. She jumped in her chair, and he chuckled. "I forgot how much you get into your research."

"Yes, well," she said, inserting a bookmark and closing the book. "You ought to remember – you interrupted me so many times in the library, I should think you'd have the surprised look on my face memorized, or something."

"What, you mean this one?" He made a face that she laughed at.

"That's the one." She followed him into the kitchen, closing her eyes as the rich aroma of the lamb met her nostrils. "That smells incredible. I didn't realize I was so hungry."

"I'd be surprised if you choked anything down tonight, after that chinese food that you inhaled at the mall." Her cheeks turned pink as she sat down.

"I haven't had it in a while, and Chinese is my favorite."

"Apparently. This isn't Chinese, but I think you'll find it acceptable." He sat a plate in front of her, and she stared at the huge piece of meat surrounded by vegetables.

"I don't think I can eat all of this," she protested, looking up at him. He handed her a large glass of wine.

"Don't offend me by not eating it," he said, taking his place across from her. She looked back down at the food.

"Thank you." His fork froze halfway to his mouth.

"What? Why?"

"I know you don't want to be friends, but thank you for being so decent to me."

"Yeah." She knew that that was all she was going to get out of him in the way of acknowledgement, so she didn't press her luck. She took a bite of the lamb and almost moaned.

"Oh my God, this is incredible," she said. A gigantic smirk appeared on his face, and she sighed. "Great. Now your ego is going to inflate to the point of smothering me, isn't it? I should know by now not to feed that thing."

"Now, now. A man always likes to hear that he's appreciated, even if he is, for all intents and purposes, trapped inside someone's home." She snorted.

"Trapped? Oh yes, definitely trapped. Damn me, forcing you to go to the mall and shop!" He chuckled.

"You know, I'm surprised that we were able to do that without being caught. It was very daring of you."

"Yeah, well. I learned daring from the best, you know." He cocked his head slightly to the side and eyed her thoughtfully.

"What was it like, being part of the famous trio?" She was caught off guard by his question and sputtered on the sip of wine she'd just taken. After she'd dabbed the wine off of her chin with her napkin, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is this a trick question?"

"No, I'm honestly curious."

"It was fun," she said softly, staring down into her wineglass. "Hellishly frightening at times, but for the most part, fun. I never lacked for people to talk to about anything, and we were never lacking in adventures."

"You never felt like a third wheel?"

"Yes, I did, at times. Not very often, but when Harry and Ron played exploding snap, or chess, or started in on Quidditch, I felt left out of things. It wasn't anything that they did purposely, though. They tried to teach me exploding snap, and I just had no desire to learn. I knew how to play chess, but I've never been good at it, and Quidditch just never held any interest for me."

"Sacrilege," he teased lightly. She smiled wistfully.

"Ron tried to teach me after we were married. I knew all of the rules and understood them well enough, but I just couldn't get interested in the game."

"Sport," he corrected her.

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. He was quiet for a moment.

"Not being in Potter's limelight didn't bother you?"

"Not really. Harry had more than enough on his plate, and I didn't envy him any of the responsibility that he shouldered, though at times I would gladly have taken some of it from him in order for him to be able to live normally."

"You were never jealous of him? His popularity?"

"Popularity?" she asked incredulously. "You mean the people always trying to kill him? No, I was never jealous of that."

"Your husband was."

"I don't think that Ron understood the weight that Harry's fame carried with it. If he had, he never would have been jealous."

"I see."

"What about you? What was it like being the son of Lucius Malfoy?"

"Stressful."

"Care to elaborate?" She watched as he refilled her wineglass, then his own.

"I loved my father, contrary to popular belief."

"I never doubted that you did."

"From the way Ginny spoke, it would seem that everyone believed that I was abused, or something similarly outrageous. No matter what my father did for his beliefs, he never laid a hand on me or my mother."

"Your home life was good." It was more of a statement than a question, and he noticed. He nodded.

"It was."

"You miss them."

"I do."

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her.

"For what?"

"I'm just sorry that you're not able to be with your family any more."

"You didn't like my father, so I'm not buying that."

"Just because I didn't like him doesn't mean that I would wish a family to be broken up," she said, her voice laced with sadness. He thought about this for several moments.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"We need to get started back on our research first thing tomorrow," he said, abruptly changing the subject.

"Yes."

"What was that book you were reading before dinner?" he asked, clearing their plates.

"_Hogwarts, a History_." He nearly dropped the plates as he turned to gape at her. "What?"

"What's the school's history got to do with wandless magic?" She pursed her lips.

"Honestly! I know you've read it, but apparently you didn't read it very thoroughly. It has an entire chapter dedicated to Rowena Ravenclaw's ability to use wandless magic during the construction of the school."

"Really?" he eyed her thoughtfully. "I must have skipped over that part. I was never interested in the Ravenclaw heritage."

"There's a surprise," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Damn," he said, grinning cheekily. "You almost sounded like the Hermione I remember from Hogwarts." She gave a start as she realized that that was the first time she'd heard him use her given name.

"And how is that, exactly?" she asked, flustered.

"The sarcastic know-it-all." He washed the plates quickly and pulled a box from the pantry. She watched as he placed a thick slice of chocolate cake on a fresh plate and handed it to her.

"I couldn't possibly eat this," she protested, pushing the plate away gently. He scooted it back in front of her and handed her a fork.

"Eat," he commanded.

"I can't! My stomach isn't big enough to handle this after eating all of that lamb!"

"Eat," he repeated. She sighed and picked up the fork.

"Fine, but if I vomit-"

"I'll hold your hair away from your face for you," he snapped, cutting himself a piece of cake. "But you won't vomit. You're going to eat that cake and like it."

"You sound like my Mother," she mumbled, frowning.

"Sensible?"

"Pushy."

"You'll get over it, I'm sure."

"You seem to be overly fond of saying that," she grumbled.

Four hours later found Hermione bent over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into it. She felt miserable; she knew she shouldn't have eaten so much earlier. Why had she listened to Draco and eaten that cake? Before she could rationalize any futher, another wave of nausea rolled over her. Suddenly she felt hands pulling her sweat-drenched hair away from her face. Before she could speak, she threw up again. To his credit, he made no noises displaying his disgust.

When she started to fall asleep on the cool tile of the loo, he helped her stand up and walked her back to her bedroom. He helped her into bed and pulled the covers up over her. After pressing his hand to her face to feel her temperature, he went back into his room and laid down.

He felt horrible.

She'd told him that she'd get sick if she had to eat that slice of cake, but he'd made her do it, anyway. She needed fatty food to get rid of that emaciated look, but he should have realized that the rich lamb was enough for the evening. He sighed. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was growing fond of her. When she had a mind to do it, she was fierce with the quips and firing insults at him, and it made him feel the closest to normal that he'd felt since before his father died.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione opened her eyes to the blinding sunlight that streamed in through her bedroom windows. Wincing, she shielded her eyes and sat up slowly. He throat felt raw and it ached, and her mouth was filled with a bitter flavor, but other than that, she felt the best she had in months.

She rose and gathered some clothes from her closet, then moved out into the hallway and into the loo. She showered and dressed, and brushed her teeth twice, before heading towards the kitchen. After brewing a fresh pot of coffee and pouring herself a cup, she took it outside and sat on the back porch.

The sound of the door opening yanked her from her peace and quiet, and she tried not to stare at him as a very disheveled looking Draco took the seat next to her. His hands were locked around a mug almost identical to hers, and he nursed it as though it held the nectar of life.

"I'm sorry." She blinked and looked over at him.

"What? Why?"

"You told me you couldn't handle that cake last night, and I made you eat it anyway."

"Don't worry about it," she said dismissively, taking a sip of the coffee. She'd always loved how the tiny wisps of steam tickled her nose. "It was really good."

"On the way in, or the way out?" he asked. She made a face, but smiled.

"Both." He wrinkled his nose.

"Disgusting." They were silent for a long time, and then Draco turned to look at her. "You know, something's been bothering me since you went to bed last night."

"Do you think the meat was bad?" she asked worriedly. He frowned.

"What? No! I mean, you said you were reading _'Hogwarts, a History,'_ right?"

"Yes, and your point?"

"Did you just have that one particular book lying around? Where did you get it?"

"I-" she looked startled. "I can't remember." He nodded.

"I checked the boxes last night before bed, and then again this morning when I woke up, but they haven't been bothered, and I still can't open them. I know you didn't have that book just lying around – not when you had all of the other magical books locked away."

"You're right," she murmured, trying to concentrate on the book. "I don't remember even picking it up... all I remember is seeing it and thinking that it would be really useful, because I remembered that section on Rowena Ravenclaw."

"So that time you weren't thinking of your late husband?"

"No, I don't suppose I was," she admitted. "What do you suppose it means?"

"I'm not sure," he said, shaking his head. "First you magic away things that piss you off, and then you summon things you need." She stared out across the horizon, her mind trying to chip away at his sentence like a word puzzle.

"Something's missing," she said quietly. He frowned.

"How so?"

"There's something that we're overlooking," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I just can't put my finger on it."

"Well, _obviously_ we're missing something – if we weren't, we would have figured all of this out already," he said, annoyed.

"I know," she said, ignoring his petulant tone. "But I have this feeling that it's right in front of us, and we're just not seeing it."

"When I find it, I'll feel free to rub your nose in it," he reassured her, taking a long sip of his coffee. She turned and frowned at him.

"Aren't you cold out here like that?"

"Like what?"

"Shirtless?" He looked down at himself and shrugged.

"Not really." Her eyebrows shot up.

"Malfoy, it's going to snow today. It's freezing out here."

"I'm not cold," he said. "Must be a warming charm that's keeping me-"his sentence dropped off and he turned surprised eyes to her. Her mouth was set in a grim line. "Perhaps we'd better get cracking at the books sooner than we'd thought." She nodded and stood, moving back into the house.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from his room, dressed immaculately. He stood behind her chair and watched over her shoulder as she scrolled down through the different results that the search engine had come up with. She sighed.

"You're just doing that to annoy me."

"Of course, because you're the motivation for everything I do," he said calmly. She frowned and stopped scrolling to turn and look at him.

"I cannot concentrate with you right behind me, breathing down my neck like that!"

"Then move out of the driver's seat and let me take over."

"Right, as if you could do any better!"

"Afraid I'm right?" She stood up and gestured grandiosely at the chair she'd just vacated.

"Please, Master Malfoy, by all means, have my seat!" He bit back a smile and nodded curtly.

"Many thanks, Weasley. Now sit back and relax while I show you how it's done." She waited until he was seated comfortably, and then leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen. "You know that that's not going to bother me, right?"

"Famous last words," she muttered, eyeing the screen. He scrolled past something that caught her eye. "Wait! Go back up a little bit." He sighed noisily, but obliged.

"There!" she said excitedly, pointing to an entry. His eyes widened.

"The Ministry of Magic has a website?" he marveled. "And they didn't think anyone would notice, or be curious about it?"

"I don't think it's meant to be public," she mused thoughtfully. "Look at that – the entire Ministry database has been loaded electronically onto the web."

"We'd better start printing stuff out before they realize it's here and take it down." He started to click the print button, but she stopped him by placing a gentle hand on his arm. He gave a start at the contact, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I wouldn't be so quick about it if I were you," she murmured, removing her hand from his arm to point at the screen. "Look at the layout of the building down here. Doesn't something seem off to you?" He squinted and examined the layout more closely.

"Why do they have St. Mungo's wards labeled on here?"

"I think that this _is _supposed to be up. This information is meant to mislead people. Muggles doing a general search for magic will see this page, and think that someone has just created a fabulously intricate role playing game, or something."

"Role playing game?" he asked, confusion etched across his face.

"Don't tell me that in your infinite knowledge of all things electronic that you don't know what a role playing game is?"

"Of course I do," he lied, shaking his head. She snorted.

"I'll explain it later. Right now, I think we should keep nosing around this site."

"Why? It's obviously got falsified information."

"But it's got to be up here for a reason. If they really didn't want anyone to know anything, they would just keep everything offline, wouldn't they?"

"So you're saying that you think that there's actually some kind of information in there somewhere, and that we just have to dig it out?"

"Exactly." He turned at the excitement in her voice and was surprised to see her eyes sparkling. "Let's take a tour, shall we? Click on the virtual tour button."

"Why don't you do it?" he suggested, standing. She blinked in surprise.

"But I thought you wanted-"

"I can take over later and give your fingers a rest. Right now, it's past time for breakfast and I'm starving."

She grimaced as she sat down. "Food sounds especially offensive today."

"More coffee?"

"No, thank you." He watched as she clicked on a button, and then he left the room to find something to eat.

He had just finished his breakfast and washed the dishes when she screamed. "Draco! Draco! Come look!" He took off running and arrived in the study breathless, still reeling from the sound of his name coming so urgently from her mouth.

"Look! I've got something!" He watched as she picked up the notepad she'd been making notes on and began pointing at the screen. "On the opening screen, there was a little wand with sparkles coming out the end of it."

"So?"

"Then when I clicked on the virtual tour, the wand disappeared. I didn't think anything of it until the tour showed the kitchen, which is actually the kitchen at Hogwart's! Don't ask how I know," she added quickly, at the confused look on his face.

"And then what happened?"

"The wand hovered in front of the kitchen door for a second, and then it was gone again. The next time it showed up was three rooms later, when it was showing the hallway in front of the Accidental Magic Reversal department from the Ministry."

"Those bloody wankers!" he swore, his eyes lighting up. "They've combined Hogwarts, the Ministry, and St. Mungo's into some sort of online puzzle!"

"Exactly!" she agreed, nearly bouncing from excitement.

"Where did it go after that?"

"I haven't seen it again anywhere else, but there was something twinkling in the back corner of the library."

"Wouldn't people taking the virtual tour think it odd that there was a library inside a hospital?"

"They'd probably think it was gift shop, or something," she said dismissively, waving her hand. "They have a lot of puzzle books near the front."

"So now the question becomes, what do all of the pieces of the puzzle mean?"

"I think we can get access to some sort of Ministry information if we can figure that out," she said, eyeing her notes again carefully.

"But what sort of information?"

"I don't know, but I feel like Alice – curiouser and curiouser!" she laughed.

"Alice was an annoying little bint," he teased. "Wait, I guess you have something in common, then." She rolled her eyes at him.

"This could be a big breakthrough, depending on the information that they have available."

"An even bigger breakthrough, though, could be when you tell me how you managed _that."_ He inclined his head towards the desk, and she looked down and gasped. A small, leather-bound book was in front of her, near the keyboard. She picked it up and ran her finger down the spine reverently.

"What is it?" he asked curiously. Unshed tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision.

"It was Harry's."

"Let me guess, it was inside one of those boxes full of magical books?"

"No, actually. It was inside the top drawer of my nightstand."

"What? Why would you leave such a thing out where-"his voice faded as he observed the warm expression she was wearing.

"It was something like a journal for him. He wrote all about us, and he wrote about his work in the field. Plus he used to draw these funny little-"she gasped, and then looked up at Draco. "Field notes! He worked for the Ministry! His notes could give us a clue!"

"I think I've already got a clue," he mused, his eyes wandering over her face. Something about the way that he was looking at her made her blush.

"What do you mean?"

"You were working on something yesterday, and suddenly a book you needed appeared. You're working on something today, and suddenly a book you need appears. Your subconscious is directing your power."

"Then how can it ever be controlled?"

"There's got to be a way."

"What about outside this morning? I'm pretty sure that wasn't me. You being warm wasn't something I needed, and besides, I was cold. Wouldn't I have made _myself _warm if it had been me?"

"Right," he agreed. She frowned and went back to scribbling questions on the notepad, but a strange feeling had begun in the pit of his stomach. His being warm wasn't something she needed, but her personality was one of those that might have given him warmth before her own, just because she was naturally selfless that way. He'd have to explore that idea more, and soon.

"Are you even listening to me?" she demanded. He blinked.

"What?"

"I've been talking for five minutes, and you've just been staring off into space."

"_Five minutes?"_

"All right, not quite that long – but it was close!"

"I was just thinking about something," he said, trying to shrug off her concerned look.

"Ginny?" she asked gently. His mouth fell open in surprise, but he caught himself quickly and nodded.

"Yes, Gin."

"I'm sorry."

An idea occurred to him. She'd been trying to get him to talk to her about Ginny ever since he'd shown up, even though he'd rebuffed her at every turn. Maybe he could test his theory about her wandless magic and satisfy her curiosity at the same time.

"Me too. Listen, I think I'm going to go and lie down for a bit; my head is feeling like it's about to explode. I think I've overloaded it – it's not used to this much action at one time anymore."

"I understand," she said sympathetically, nodding. "I get migraines all the time. Do you want me to wake you if I find anything else?"

"No, I'll just wait until I get up. Thanks, though." She nodded and went back to the computer as he left the room. What was he playing at, befriending her like this? She really was actually somewhat pleasant when it came down to it; he supposed that there were worse people he could be stuck with.

He was sure that as soon as they could figure out how she was doing the wandless magic, she would find a way to control it, and then she'd be able to teach him how to do it. All she needed was a boost of confidence, so she'd be secure in the knowledge.

* * *

As soon as he emerged from his room he was aware of the sounds of her crying. He wandered from room to room looking for her, even opening her bedroom door a crack to peek inside. When he'd been through every room with no signs of her, he realized what must have happened. She'd decided that she didn't want him to see her crying, and somehow had made herself invisible.

Her powers were apparently evolving at a rapid rate, and he wondered why. What sort of ramifications would this newest manifestation of power hold? Would her magic finally show up on the magic detectors? Invisibility spells took a lot of power to cast, and even more power to maintain.

"Weasley?" he called, trying to make his voice gentle. "I know you're there, I can hear you." Her crying was silenced instantly. He cursed under his breath – had she done that on purpose, or had her magic struck again?

"You've gone and made yourself invisible, pet. I need you to concentrate on being visible again." When nothing happened, he sighed. Then, gently but with a stern note in his voice, he said, "Hermione." Suddenly she was there, huddled in the corner of the room, her cheeks streaked with tears.

He knelt down beside her and slipped a finger beneath her chin, easing her face up towards his. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she said, sniffling. "One second I'm doing research and feeling better than I have in months, and then the next second I'm a weeping mess."

"Obviously you didn't want me to see you crying, since you went invisible on me." He turned and retrieved a tissue from the box on the end table, then handed it to her.

"I don't relish the idea, no," she admitted, dabbing at her nose with the tissue.

"Can't think why," he said, smirking. "I see women cry all the time."

"Please," she said, rolling her eyes. "If this is going to be another one of those exaggerated speeches about the women who have fawned over you, you can just save your breath." He looked offended.

"Exaggerated? You saw those women at the mall, following me around! How can you say that? You cut me to the quick, woman!"

"And to think I didn't want to cry in front of you – gosh, why is that, do you think?"

"What brought you back?" he asked suddenly, his expression sobering.

"What?"

"What brought you back?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. She had her suspicions, but she wasn't about to voice them. Had it been his gentle voice calling her "pet" (which she was utterly sure that he hadn't meant to do), or had it been his firm intonation of her name? Either way, she had the distinct feeling that she was headed for trouble.

He arched an eyebrow as he helped her to her feet. She was in the habit of lying to him, and he didn't like it. He knew she wasn't telling him the full truth; it was obvious in the tone of her voice, the way her right eye twitched. He understood her motivations for lying, sure – they'd been enemies for over seven years – but now things were different, and they were working towards a common goal. She was going to have to learn to trust him.

But absent a Veritaserum potion or any sort of truth-inducing spells, he would have to rely on her to be truthful with him of her own volition. The thought made him frown. That was going to mean that he'd have to earn her trust, which could take time that they didn't have.

"I think I'll be fine on the sofa," she said quietly, moving away from his steadying arms. She sat down and closed her eyes. It was strange to feel a man after four years of no contact with one, and even stranger that she hadn't hated it. She hadn't been impressed by it, but she hadn't disliked it, either. His hands were soft and warm, and he'd been gentle with her. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of thought away and opened her eyes to give him a weak smile. "So, how long should I expect teasing about this latest episode?"

He surprised her by sitting down in the chair across from her and giving her an intense look. "You're weak, Weasley. You've been starving yourself for too long, and your body isn't ready for the physical and mental demands we're placing on it."

"What are you saying?" she asked, feeling her lower lip tremble.

"We can't work on this until you're stronger."

"But I thought that you wanted to learn how to do it!" she protested, sitting up quickly. "And now I want to know how I'm doing it! You can't just get me started on something and expect me to leave it!"

"I can, and you will," he said decisively. "If we don't get this figured out by the time I'm a free man, you'll have something to work on when I'm gone. If you ever figure it out, you can look me up and tell me, but the fact remains that you're not healthy enough to undertake this kind of stress."

"I am!" she said, a defiant sparkle in her eyes. He shook his head.

"You're not. Your disappearing episode should prove that to you well enough. And you have to know that I will not help you continue to work on this until you are better."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"I'm already being hunted for one murder that I didn't commit, and I won't subject myself to another." She deflated and slumped back into the cushions of the sofa.

"So what now?" Inwardly, he sighed. The fact that she had admitted defeat was proof that she wasn't strong enough yet. Her passionate objection had given him a moment of hope, but she'd let go of it too quickly.

"Now you eat and get stronger, and quit moping around this funeral home."

"So what do you suggest? You're already cooking, and I can tell it's helping," she admitted grudgingly. "But if I'm too tired to sit at a computer and do research, what _can_ I do?"

"We'll think of something," he reassured her. He stared down at the floor, trying to ignore the fact that she was regarding him with open curiosity. Finally his temper got the better of him. He looked up and snapped, "What? Why do you keep staring at me like that?"

"I didn't mean to stare," she said, her expression softening. His heart began thudding wildly inside his chest – the look she was giving him made him uncomfortable. It was so warm and open and utterly _caring_ that it made his entire body ache. The look reminded him of one that Ginny used to give him. Gods, how he missed that woman. Missed seeing the copper hair fanned out on the pillow, missed hearing her laughter, missed having her comforting arms wrapped around him. He looked away from Hermione.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning her eyes towards the window. How could she explain to him that in that moment, he'd sounded exactly like Ron? He'd reassured her and calmed her down when she was too wired, just like Ron used to do. The tone of Draco's voice had reminded her of her beloved husband, and for a moment, it was like having Ron back. For one blessed moment, she had been able to think about him without sadness.

Now that the moment was over, though, the sadness threatened to swallow her whole. She took a deep breath and steadied herself against the ache in her breast, then turned to look at Draco. He was still staring at the wall, his jaw clenched.

"Why don't we watch something stupid on the telly?" she suggested, trying to force her voice to be light. He nodded curtly without looking at her.

"Sounds like a plan." He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, where he could see the television, taking care not to sit too close. She picked up the remote and turned the television on, surfing through channels until she came across an action movie. She looked at him.

"Is this all right?"

"Fine." She put the remote down on the coffee table and snuggled into the back of the sofa.

* * *

Draco tried to steady his breathing, but it wasn't working. Sometime during the movie, Hermione had fallen asleep, and even though he'd put distance between them, apparently it hadn't been _enough_ distance. She was now sleeping with her head in his lap.

She was warm and if he closed his eyes, he could just smell her floral perfume, and oh Gods, he'd better wake her up and move her before this train of thought continued down its path! Besides, this was _Hermione!_ She was Muggle-born. He sighed, knowing that he'd abandoned that prejudice long ago. He was trying to think of good reasons to keep his hands away from her, when all he really wanted to do was feel her arms wrapped around him, the way Ginny used to.

The thought stopped him cold.

Ginny was still fresh in his heart and mind; how could he even consider the thoughts he was having? He ground his teeth together. It was only because Hermione was warm and the only woman he had access to right now, that _had_ to be it. He'd never been attracted to her in the least, but now that had to be the reason he wanted to touch her. He missed Ginny. Well, he refused to sully Ginny's love for him by making a play on such an emotionally vulnerable woman.

He licked his lips, trying to get rid of the dryness. His throat had gone dry as well – oh, why hadn't he woken her up as soon as she'd begun to fall towards him? He poked her shoulder gently. When nothing happened, he did it again, more firmly this time.

"Weasley!" he croaked. "Wake up!"

"Mmmph," she mumbled, snuggling closer to him. He bit back a moan as her hand moved up to touch his knee. "Go back to sleep, Ron." He froze, and the tingling in his leg stopped abruptly. She thought he was her late husband?

"Wake up, Weasley," he said, a little more forcefully than was necessary. Her eyes flew open suddenly, and she found herself looking up into his smirking face. She sat up quickly and pushed herself away from him, balling up in the corner of the couch.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes wild.

"You were giving in to your urges," he said wickedly. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. He hated to deceive her like this, but the more distance he could put between them, the better.

"Oh – Oh, Gods," she whispered, shaking her head. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" He blinked. Why was she apologizing to him?

"You're sorry?" he echoed.

"Look, it's not that I don't find you attractive, or anything," she began, shaking her head. His jaw dropped open, but she didn't seem to notice. "But –"

"You think I tried to-"he stopped for a moment, her words sinking in. A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "You think I'm attractive!"

"No!" she gasped, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant!"

"You do! I always knew that you did, but damn, Weasley! To just come out and admit it like that..." he shrugged, smirking. She dropped her face into her hands.

"That is **_so_** not what I meant," she moaned. "Why must you take everything the wrong way?"

"You had your head in my lap, you squeezed my knee, and you told me I was attractive," he said, ticking things off on his fingers. _"Is_ there any other way to take that?"

"Sweet Circe, Draco! I was asleep!" He frowned. She'd said his name again, and it was still having the same effect on him. It made him feel lightheaded. "I didn't mean to do those things!"

"Oh, but you forget, pet, you were awake when you professed your attraction to me," he pointed out. She blushed and stood up.

"Can we please just forget that this ever happened?" she begged, her back to him. "I didn't mean to do it, I swear!" she ran from the room, nearly in tears. His frown deepened.

When he was sure she was out of earshot, he muttered, "I know, and I can't figure out why that fact is bothering me."

DENY


	8. Chapter 8

He'd been debating since beginning preparations for dinner whether or not he should bother her and tell her that dinner was ready. He'd frowned and sulked and pouted about it, trying to convince himself that he didn't really care that she hadn't meant to touch him, and that it hadn't meant anything to him.

It wasn't working.

He paced back and forth in front of the oven as he thought. He'd been thinking so much that his head was aching and felt as though someone had hit him with a blunt, heavy object. It had only been two and a half weeks since Ginny had been murdered, and he'd been in love with her. What, then, was this strange emotion that was clouding his mind and making him feel strange about Hermione?

He opened the oven door just a bit to inspect the roast he was cooking. It was nearly done, and he knew that any moment, it would be ready to eat. His frown deepened – he still hadn't decided whether or not to call her from her room.

He'd eaten lunch alone, sitting on the back porch with a mug of cocoa and a blanket over his lap as he ate. It was nice, this place where she lived. He'd had to walk most of the way there, so as not to alert anyone to his presence, and it had been dark on the night he'd arrived. He hadn't been able to see much of anything through the combination of night sky and torrential rain. Now that he was looking out over her back yard, though, he realized why she must have chosen this place to settle down in.

The back yard was nothing more than a peaceful expanse of flat grassland, met in the very back by a cluster of trees. It was relaxing to be able to sit and just stare out across the grounds, not a worry in the world troubling his mind.

Well – not for the few minutes he'd been eating, anyway. Once he'd finished eating and had nothing else to do with his hands, no other job to concentrate on, he'd found the silence and solitude unnerving. It was then that he couldn't stop the thoughts from rushing to his mind; the things he never wanted to think about and always pushed to the furthest recesses of his brain.

Now they bombarded him. Thoughts of Ginny, of their short but happy time together, memories of his mother and father in happier times, and even though it confused him, thoughts of Hermione.

He checked the roast one more time, and sat down at the kitchen table with his glass of wine. She'd preyed on his mind all afternoon, and it made him uneasy. After all, Ginny had just passed away – shouldn't he be devoting all of his thoughts to her? He squeezed his eyes shut and took a long drink of the tart liquid. He'd loved Ginny, but he'd never been one to dwell on the past. When his first real relationship had ended, he'd never looked back, even though he'd loved Pansy more than he'd ever thought he'd love anyone else. Back then, she was the end all be all of women, and he'd never wanted to be with anyone else but her.

When she'd walked away from him and started seeing Blaise Zabini, it had hurt like hell, but he'd put her behind him. It was the only way he knew to move forward.

The big surprise of the entire school was when Blaise had broken up with Pansy to ask Hermione out in their seventh year. Potter was preparing for his face-off with Voldemort, and people were choosing their sides very carefully. It surprise Draco that Blaise had gone against his parents and chosen the way he had; he remembered wondering at the time if Blaise had done it all for Hermione.

She'd dated him for well over a month, until the boy Weasel had made his feelings known. Poor Blaise had never had a chance. He chuckled to himself as he recalled Blaise's dejected face the day that she'd broken up with him. Of course, he didn't stay sad for long – a dotty Ravenclaw girl had had her eye on him, and snapped him up right away.

Draco poured himself another glass of wine. He should go and fetch her. Yes, it would only be the right thing to do, especially if he wanted her to eat and become strong enough to participate in the kind of research he wanted to get done. He stood, about to make his way to her room, when she entered the kitchen. He sat back down quickly.

She went straight to the oven and opened it to peer inside.

"Hey!" he protested, standing. "It won't cook right if you keep opening it like that!" She shut the door and turned to him with a sheepish look.

"Keep opening? I only opened it once! It just smelled good, and I wanted to know what was in there."

"Curiosity killed the cat, remember?" She sat down at the table and watched as he poured her a glass of wine.

"I'm no feline."

"True enough." They were silent for a moment while they sipped their wine. Finally she looked up as he was taking the roast out of the oven.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" He nearly dropped the roast as he turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"What?"

"For dinner. Weren't you going to wake me up?" she asked, looking confused. His relief was obvious, though he turned his back to her to hide it. For a moment, he thought she'd been talking about earlier. What had thrown him off was the fact that he'd been puzzling over the same thing, and hadn't yet come up with any feasible explanations.

"I just thought you were tired. But I was going to wake you up – I was about to come get you when you walked in."

"Thanks for not teasing me about earlier."

"The night is still young, so don't thank me yet," he said, shrugging. He placed a plate full of food in front of her. "Feeling good enough to eat again yet?"

"I'm starving," she admitted, picking up her fork.

"Just don't eat too much tonight," he said distractedly, piling food onto his own plate. She stared at him in wonder. Was this what he'd been like at home? So relaxed and- and- _generous_?

"I won't," she promised, shaking her head. He sat down and began to pretend to eat. She tried to ignore the fact that he was just rearranging the food on his plate, but after she'd finished hers and had seconds, it was beginning to bother her that he wasn't eating. He hadn't said a single word all through dinner, and it felt strange to her. Was their encounter from that morning still bothering him?

She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. It hadn't really been all that bad, and she hadn't felt bad about it – well, not _too_ badly, anyway. Had she really disgusted him that much? Tears sprung to her eyes, and she sighed silently. Why did she even care if he was disgusted by her or not? Wasn't that par for the course? He'd always hated her, so what did it matter now if he still did?

It mattered because she didn't want him to. It mattered because he'd been so damned civil these last few days. It mattered because she was lonely, and she needed a friend. Obviously he did too, whether he knew it or not – he wouldn't have told her any of the personal things he'd said so far if he didn't.

She cleared her throat, but he didn't look up. He just kept raking his fork through his mashed potatoes. "So, did you do anything interesting while I was asleep?"

"I cooked." His voice was flat and emotionless. She blinked at the apathy of it.

"Dinner was lovely. You know, if you don't want to cook all the time, just tell me, and I'll do it." She waited for him to come back with some witty comment about how she couldn't cook, or some scathing remark about his superior culinary skills. Nothing.

She sat her wine glass down on the table and stared pointedly at him. Something really _was_ bothering him, and she wanted to know what it was. "Are you all right?"

"Don't I look it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"If you looked it, do you think I would have asked?" She pursed her lips together.

"If you already thought that I didn't look all right, then why did you ask me if I was? Why didn't you just ask what was wrong, instead?"

"I suppose I thought that you'd just volunteer the information," she sighed. She looked down at the tabletop. "You're not eating."

"Yes I am."

"You're not. You've just been pushing your food around on your plate."

"Bollocks."

"Why aren't you eating?"

"I am eating. I'm just not eating as much as I normally do – I had a big lunch." She glanced around the kitchen, focusing on the rack where the washed dishes were drying. She turned back to him and frowned.

"You did not."

"How in the bloody hell would you know?" he snapped. "You were asleep."

"You would have used more than a mug if you'd had a big lunch," she said, nodding towards the drying rack. He rolled his eyes before meeting her gaze.

"You know that sometimes you're too smart for your own good?"

"And I expect you're not, then?"

"We have different sorts of knowledge," he said distractedly, averting his eyes.

"Different how?"

"You're all light and goodness, and I'm all darkness and misery." Her mouth dropped open in surprise, but she remained silent. "Glinda, the good witch. What does that make me, then?"

"You can't possibly believe that," she said, shaking her head gently.

"Perhaps I'd be one of the monkey foot soldiers," he mused thoughtfully. She snorted, and he looked at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, smiling. "I know that you're trying to be serious, but the imagery... well, it leaves a bit to be desired in regard to the more sober topics." He grinned suddenly, stealing her breath away.

"It does a bit, doesn't it?" he agreed.

"I didn't even know that you were familiar with that particular story."

"There are a great many things you do not know about me."

"You're right." She sipped her wine silently for a moment.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me to tell you what it is that you don't know?"

"Are you that eager to tell me?"

"I just thought you were curious."

"You did say that Alice was an annoying bint," she pointed out. "I've no desire to be annoying."

"Since when?" She ignored the smirk he wore.

"Very funny, Malfoy." His face fell a bit. "What did I say?"

"So it's back to that, then, is it?"

"Back to what?" she asked, puzzled.

"You'd been calling me –"his voice died, and he shook his head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter." She straightened in her chair.

"It does matter, or you wouldn't have brought it up. Please, tell me."

"Let it go," he said, frowning.

"Not until you tell me what you were going to say."

"I forgot." She glared at him.

"You forgot," she echoed. He nodded. "Like hell you did! Just tell me, already!" His eyes widened slightly at her language.

"I've never heard you speak so forcefully before," he mused. Her cheeks colored pink, but she didn't break eye contact.

"Well, now that you have, will you tell me what you were going to say? And don't say that you forgot, because we both know you didn't!"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I do!" she snapped, flustered. "Do I have to have a reason to want to know what you were about to say?"

"Yes."

"I don't like things left unfinished!" she said, her eyes blazing.

"What was it you wanted to know?" he asked coolly. She groaned in frustration and stood up, then left the room. He smirked to himself. She really was too easy to annoy.

He finished his dinner slowly, relishing every bite. Something about annoying her worked up his appetite, he supposed. He took his plate to the sink and washed it, then did the same with hers. He poured another glass of wine, and almost as an afterthought, poured one for her, as well. He went into the living room, but she was not there. His next guess was the study. She wasn't in there, either. He stopped in front of her closed bedroom door, the wineglasses in his hand, and his heart thumping wildly.

He knocked before he could second guess himself.

"What do you want?" she called angrily.

"I've brought you some liquid refreshment."

"I don't want anything to drink."

"You need it."

"I don't _want_ it!"

"You don't – damn it, I refuse to speak to you through this door!" He turned the knob and went inside, only to be greeted by her very shocked face peering over at him from the side of her bed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Invading the sanctity of your tomb," he said sarcastically, moving toward her. He held out the wineglass and his lips tightened into a thin line. "Take it."

"I don't want it."

"Look here, woman. I can be as stubborn as you any day of the week, so either you're going to take it, or we're just going to stay here like this as long as it takes." She narrowed her eyes at him, but took the wineglass and sat it on her night table.

"I won't drink it."

"You will, if I have to force it down your throat."

"What did you put in it, that you want me to drink it so badly?"

"What could I possibly _have_ to put in it?" he snapped. "And why won't you just drink it?"

"Why do you want me to so badly?" She folded her arms over her chest. He growled, causing her eyes to widen slightly.

"Fine, don't drink it. See if I care." He turned his back and started to walk away.

"Wait," she said, her voice hesitant. He stopped and turned slowly to look at her, his anger still bubbling inside his stomach. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"What?" he almost laughed. "You think that your not drinking the wine is going to hurt my feelings? I thought you knew me better than that, Weasley."

"I wasn't talking about the wine," she said softly. "I think I figured out what I said to make you mad at me, and I've figured out what you were about to say." His cheeks instantly began to burn.

"Is that right."

"Yes, but what I can't figure out is why it upset you so much."

"You don't know what you're talking about, I'm sure." He turned to leave again.

"Draco." He froze. His hand began to tremble.

He waited for her to say something, but she remained silent. Finally he turned around, and was surprised to see that she'd been crying. He could see the moisture glistening on her cheeks as she looked at him.

"What?" he asked, his voice gentler than he wanted it to be.

"Please, stay and talk to me."

"We've nothing to talk about."

"Please, Draco. I'm asking nicely." Damn. There it was again; she'd said it twice now. Both times it had sounded nice, no matter how much he tried to dissect her inflection inside his mind. He turned and pulled the chair away from her vanity table and placed it in front of her, then sat down.

"What is it, then?"

"I'm sorry."

"You've already said that. If that's all you wanted, I'll be going, then." He started to stand, but stopped when she reached out and lightly touched his arm.

"Please, don't go." Reluctantly, he lowered himself back onto the chair and stared at her, hoping that it would unnerve her to the point of letting him out of her room. Things in here felt much too private for him to remain; he was acutely aware of her scent permeating the room, not to mention that they were sitting so closely that if he moved just so, their knees would touch.

"What do you want?"

"I'm apologizing for calling you by your last name at dinner instead of your given name. Sometimes it's just too easy to slip into old habits, you know?" He got the distinct impression from the way that she tilted her head that she was referring to more than her slip of the tongue.

"It is," he agreed, focusing his gaze on his wine glass.

"If you want me to call you Draco, I will."

"That's my name," he said indifferently, giving her a quick shrug. Instead of snapping at him as she had earlier, though, she merely tilted her head to the other side.

"Tell me what you want." His eyes widened and his pulse quickened. He knew that she was referring to his name, but the words rolling off of her lips were definitely stimulating in other areas, as well. He felt his throat go dry and cursed his traitorous body. His mind might still yearn for Ginny, but obviously his body had other plans.

"Malfoy is fine," he lied. He didn't want to think about how his first name sounded coming from her mouth; he wanted to forget the way it made him tingle when he heard her say it. If she would just call him Malfoy, he would remember their history; would remember his place with her, and things would be so much easier for both of them.

"You got angry with me when I called you that," she pointed out calmly. His palms were starting to sweat. "If you don't want me to call you Malfoy, and you don't want me to call you Draco, what should I call you?"

"Malfoy is fine," he repeated through clenched teeth. He was starting to feel warm. If he didn't get out of here in a moment, he didn't know what was going to happen.

"You know, if you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here to listen," she said, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. Mordred, Morgaine, and Nineve, when she blushed like that, she looked impossibly innocent... "I know I'm not who you'd choose to speak to if you had that choice, but I can listen just as well as anyone else. And you know I don't talk to anyone else, so you know I wouldn't tell anyone what you told me."

"I don't want to talk to you," he said abruptly, standing so quickly that he almost knocked the chair over. She frowned and looked confused, which only made his body temperature rise more.

"What did I say now?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to talk to you. Goodnight." He practically ran for the door, not even looking back when she called after him.

* * *

He'd been lying in his bed, awake, for the last two hours. He'd lain silently through her gentle rapping on the door, had ignored the concerned calls of his name (both first and last) through the door, and had finally heard her retreat into her own room. This had to be done; it was what was best for the both of them. It wouldn't do to get too close to her, especially not after all they had both been through.

After all, his lover had just died, and her husband had died four years ago. He frowned. It had been four years, hadn't it? Why hadn't she moved on? She'd told him she was lonely, so why hadn't she made the effort to get out and find some friends, or at the very least, contact some of her old ones?

He sat up and stretched slowly. As soon as he was sure that she'd gone to bed, he'd get up and watch something on the telly. He pressed his ear to the door and listened, but he heard no sound. She must have gone to bed. He opened the door and crept quietly into the living room, then lowered himself onto the couch gently. He reached for the remote. Just as he was about to push a button, however, he heard noises from the kitchen.

He stood and looked around for a weapon. His eyes landed on an umbrella in a nearby corner. He grabbed it and made his way slowly to the kitchen, where he snapped on the light. Almost as soon as his eyes fell on her, he dropped the umbrella.

She was sitting at the table, her eyes red and puffy, nursing a tumbler full of liquid. She barely even glanced up when he entered the room, choosing instead to stare into her glass. He stepped closer and the smell of alcohol flooded his nostrils. He grimaced.

"What are you drinking, Weasley?"

"Alcohol."

"Obviously," he snapped, frowning deeply. "I meant, what kind?"

"Don't care." He leaned forward and sniffed gingerly around her face, and she recoiled. "What are you doing?"

"You haven't had any of it," he accused, taking the seat across from her. Her cheeks turned scarlet.

"I have."

"You don't like it enough to drink it, is that it?"

"No," she admitted finally, sniffling. "It burns."

"So this is what? You trying to sit here and convince yourself that you're going to drink it because you don't want to waste it?" He'd just been teasing, but the way that the scarlet on her cheeks deepened told him that he'd been right.

"Please just leave me alone."

"I want to see you drink it," he said decisively, reclining in his chair. She blinked.

"What?"

"I don't believe that you'll drink it."

"Go away."

"Chicken."

She glared at him. "This is incredibly childish, do you realize that?"

"For a Gryffindor, you're not very brave," he commented coldly. Her face moved through several emotions in rapid succession – shock, humiliation, and finally, anger. She lifted the glass to her lips and drained its contents.

"Yuck!" she gasped, sticking her tongue out.

"You've no promises from me to hold your hair back tonight," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Where did you get that stuff, anyway?"

"Cabinet," she gasped, pointing. She began coughing. He went to the cabinet she'd indicated and pulled out a bottle of vodka. After he'd inspected the label, he retrieved her empty glass from the table and filled it. She stared at him. "I'm not going to drink-"her voice died as he downed the entire glass.

He sat the glass in the sink, not bothering to rinse it out, and sat down in front of her again. Their eyes locked across the table, and she couldn't hide her amazement. "What? You've seen me drink before."

"But you used my glass, without washing it. Aren't you afraid that you'll get some kind of germ, or something?"

"Not particularly."

"Why did you do that?"

"We're on an even keel now. We've both had a glass. Even."

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me why you were crying. You owe me that, at least, seeing as how I got out of bed to flay an intruder, and now I don't get to."

"Why does anybody cry?" she answered, hiccupping. He arched an eyebrow at her again.

"I don't want to know why _anybody _cries, I want to know why _you_ were crying."

"Because I'm frustrated."

"Why are you frustrated?"

"There are lots of reasons."

"I'm not going anywhere. Explain away."

"Why should I?"

"Because you told me earlier that you wanted to listen. Well, I'm returning the favor."

"But I didn't listen to you, so how can you return the favor before I've given it?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Are you referring to yourself as a horse? Because personally, I would have chosen to compare you to an ass."

His smirk was wide as she answered.

"You sound better already, although don't think you won't be paying for that ass comment later."

"Right, because everything has a price." He cocked his head to the side and studied her intently.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that I think there's something behind us being nice to each other. Why are you being nice to me, anyway?"

"This again," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "We already had this discussion."

"So you're just being nice to me because you're here and you want to work with me on the wandless magic research?" Her lower lip trembled slightly, and he fought not to stare at it.

"I thought we'd already established this."

"You're not being nice to me because you like me at all?" His hands instantly clenched into fists, and his jaw tightened.

"What would give you that impression?"

"That's traditionally why people are nice to each other, Draco." He closed his eyes against the sound of his name. Damn it, why had he insisted on making such an issue out of that? It was going to be his undoing if he wasn't careful.

"Is that why you're nice to me?" he asked, opening his eyes and sneering at her. "Because you _like_ me?"

"I-I didn't say that," she protested, her cheeks going pink again. His heart plummeted. _Oh, Gods, she _likes_ me!_

"You most certainly did, Weasley. I heard you. Your exact words were 'That's traditionally why people are nice to each other'." She looked up.

"No, those weren't my exact words. My _exact_ words were, 'That's traditionally why people are nice to each other, _Draco_.'"

He swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat. "You're not denying it."

"And you don't want me to say your name now, when you made a fuss about it earlier," she observed, her tears drying. "Why?"

"This is boring me," he said, standing. She stood just as quickly and moved in front of him, effectively blocking his exit. "Move."

"Not until you tell me why."

"Why what?" he asked, his steely eyes boring into her.

"Why you wanted me to say your name earlier, and you don't now."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, and if you don't move, I'm going to do something that we're both going to regret."

"You _do_ know what I'm talking about, and go ahead and do it! Do you think I care?" His pulse was pounding so loudly in his ears, he could barely hear her.

"I've no intention of telling you anything, Mudblood." She winced, and then stared at him defiantly.

"So that's what this is, then," she said, her blood boiling. "I slipped into old habits and called you by your last name once, and then you get angry with me. To punish me, you pick fights and call me 'Weasley' and 'Mudblood.'"

"Last time I checked, Weasley was your name," he said, the irritation clear in his voice.

"But Mudblood isn't."

"You are one, you know."

"And I know you don't care about my blood anymore, so it won't work."

"What?" he snorted.

"I remember what you said to me the night you went into the attic, about being born with magic. I remember you calling me Hermione. You can't just erase all of that by reverting back to your tried and true asshole persona, just because you think it will throw me off the scent!"

He met her gaze and stared wordlessly. The fury in her eyes was undeniable, but just behind them was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on yet, even though he could see it there. In this disheveled state, she was terribly attractive – even though it was clear to him that she was going to keep talking, no matter what he said. So what could he do to shut her up?

Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

DENY


	9. Chapters 9 and 10

**Chapter Nine**

It took exactly seven seconds for Hermione's hand to connect with the side of Draco's face.

She moved backwards, taking several steps away from him, and stood panting. She stared at him, watching as he pressed his hand to the red welt on his cheek. He didn't look at her.

"I told you I'd do something we both regretted," he muttered, before disappearing through the doorway.

She stood there, her chest heaving erratically, still staring after him. He'd just kissed her! What was happening here? Her world was being turned upside down, and she wasn't sure that she liked it. Ron and Harry would have killed him if they'd been here. They might have even turned on her for allowing it to happen. She frowned. Ron and Harry would never have turned on her, no matter what she'd done. She knew that for a fact.

Draco Malfoy was being civil to her. No, not just civil – he'd been behaving as though they were friends. A wry smile crossed her face at that thought. _Friends who annoy the living hell out of each other,_ she thought. She flopped down in her armchair in the living room and was struck by a thought.

Hadn't that been the way she and Ron had started out?

She and Ron had been exact opposites, and he had annoyed her to no end. She and Draco had so many things in common that she couldn't even begin to name them all. They were both intelligent, book-smart, they enjoyed a lot of the same things… and he'd kissed her. The blood rushed to her face and she began chewing on her thumbnail.

Why had he kissed her? Had it just been to shut her up? Because Ron had admitted that he'd done that to her a few times. Blaise had admitted to doing it once. Had Draco done the same thing? And why had he called her 'pet' twice now?

She growled in frustration and shook her head. Why must she overanalyze everything? Everything had to have an equation; it all had to add up and come out correctly. Then again, she always had had the tendency to think in formulas. She frowned and buried her head in her hands.

* * *

Draco listened to her out in the other room, growling and making little noises. No doubt she was trying to deduce why he'd kissed her; she was probably wracking her brain, searching for a reason. He smirked at the thought – she wasn't going to come up with one any time soon. Even he didn't know why he'd done it.

What was happening to him? Being trapped in this house alone with her and no magic was a dangerous thing for him. It was even more dangerous, in his opinion, than being locked in a life-or-death duel. With no magic, he had to rely on his people skills to interact with her, and people skills were _not_ his strong suit.

Any of the friendships he'd had in school had been instigated by the other person when they'd found out who his father was. Money, prominence, friends – they were all interwoven because of his father's name. He'd never had to work for a thing in his entire life. Learning came easily to him; he'd rarely had to crack a book in order to be able to ace a test. Quidditch wasn't as easy, but it still wasn't something he'd had to work too much at to succeed.

Even with Potter stealing the limelight most of the time, Draco hadn't had to exert himself to regain it. Good light, bad light – all shades of fame were the same to him. There was no distinction – not until her.

He'd watched Snape and his father being tortured, well hidden in the trees surrounding the Manor. After he was sure that the Death Eaters had gone, he'd rushed forward to examine the bodies for himself. His father was already dead, his eyes wide and unseeing. He hadn't wasted too much time before moving to Snape, who was by some miracle, still breathing. Barely. Snape had squinted at him, trying to see who he was.

"It's me, Professor. Draco."

"Find Dumbledore. He'll protect you." The words escaped him in his final breath, and Draco was left with two lifeless bodies. He'd fled then; gone straight to Hogwarts as quickly as his legs would carry him. He didn't dare risk Apparating – the Death Eaters would be looking for magical activity, and it would lead them straight to him.

Once inside Dumbledore's office, Draco had told him everything that he knew. He'd told him everything he'd ever been privy to concerning the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. He'd told him how the Dark Marks that the Death Eaters wore were weakening, and Voldemort hadn't regained enough power to be able to recast the spell that made the mark. New Death Eaters hadn't even been marked yet, so it was difficult to tell who was a follower and who wasn't.

With the weakening of the Marks came the inability to summon the Death Eaters. Instead of working on recasting the spell, Voldemort had spent his time and energy punishing each of those men who didn't come immediately when summoned. He didn't care to hear their explanations – Voldemort didn't accept excuses, Draco explained – and he refused to tolerate their lateness to meetings.

He told Dumbledore that he suspected that that's why his father and Snape had been killed. Imagine his surprise, then, when Dumbledore explained that Snape had been a double agent, and he believed that Voldemort had finally discovered that fact. Dumbledore was greatly saddened by Snape's loss, and spoke highly of him, which also surprised Draco.

Then came the moment of truth. Did he want to walk away from the fight altogether, or did he want to fight alongside Dumbledore? The choice really hadn't been his to begin with, and he felt sure that Dumbledore realized that. Once Voldemort noticed that he was missing, Draco would be a part of the fight, regardless of if he wanted to be or not. Why not go down trying to kill the bastard that had killed his father?

His introduction into the Order of the Phoenix had been short and bitter. Dumbledore had brought him into the meeting undisguised, letting everyone see that he was there and a part of the team. If he hadn't been so used to it, the glares of hatred might have broken him that night. The only one who hadn't been glaring at him had been her, and she'd been regarding him with open curiosity.

After the meeting had ended, she'd approached him fearlessly and extended her hand. He'd stared at it at first, wondering what she was up to. She'd frowned and made some comment about her not having cooties, and he'd taken her hand. From that moment on, she'd been his friend; his defender, even though he'd never wanted one.

Falling in love with Ginny had been so easy. She hadn't cared what he was like before joining the Order – she'd known, and she hadn't cared. She'd accepted him for who he was at that moment, and he'd been a changed man. She'd welcomed him into her life with open arms, introducing him around the Order and trying to help him gain some footing.

The night he'd gone to her flat with a bouquet of fresh roses was the night he'd found out that she was dead. She was nowhere to be found, and there were signs of a struggle in her apartment. He'd rushed back to Dumbledore to tell him, but Dumbledore had stopped him from leaving his office. They knew that Ginny had been attacked, he'd said. They'd found her that afternoon.

When Draco asked where she was being kept, Dumbledore told him. He'd also told him he couldn't see her. Draco had balled up his fists and dared Dumbledore to try and stop him, before he went into the room she was in. His heart had nearly stopped beating when he'd seen her.

She was lying on a bed in the infirmary. Her skin was almost as white as the sheets she was lying on. Her bright copper hair was fanned out around her head, framing her angelic face. Her eyes were closed and she looked totally at peace, even though he could see scratches and other marks all the way down her naked arms. His face reflected his disgust when he saw that the Death Eaters had tried to carve the Dark Mark in her left forearm with some sort of instrument.

Dumbledore had come in and forced him away from Ginny's body, reassuring him that she was in a better place now, and that she'd never feel pain again. Draco had collapsed in the old man's office, sobbing like a child.

After he'd regained some composure, it was then that Dumbledore had broken the bad news to him. Ginny's family, along with some other members of the Order, thought he'd been the one who'd killed her. Apparently the Death Eaters had planned this, and they had planted some instruments of torture at his temporary home (the flat he'd been using since joining the Order).

Draco had listened with a growing feeling of numbness. What else could he do? Where would he go? Now he would be hunted by both good and bad sides, alike. Dumbledore had told him, though, that he did have one final option. There was a home he could go to and stay while his name was being cleared. The woman was a widow and lived alone, and although she was a proficient, gifted witch, she had forsaken magic altogether. Draco would be safe there, because Dumbledore knew for a fact that the Death Eaters believed this woman to be insignificant to their cause now.

He had accepted his banishment with a feeling of foreboding. Why did he still live, when his reason for living was gone?

Then she'd opened the door, and he'd been surprised as hell. She looked bad; he almost hadn't recognized her. Might not have, if it hadn't been for the familiar stubborn glare she'd aimed at him after he'd first spoken. After that, there could be no denying that it was really her.

He never should have agreed to come here. Albeit it was a more luxurious prison than Azkaban, he should be in jail, rotting for what he'd done. He'd gotten sloppy with Ginny; had been too wrapped up in the warm blanket of her affection to realize that going out with her in public had endangered her life. He was responsible for her death, even if he hadn't done it himself.

But instead of being punished, here he was, in Hermione's home. She'd been kind to him, even though he'd never given her reason to. She'd taken him out and bought things for him, and made him feel like a real, live person again. Where was the gain for her in all of this?

He snorted as he went to look at himself in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the closet door. Why was he always so set on believing that everyone wanted something from him? She had nothing to gain from him. Nothing but his company, which she had made clear from the second day that she'd accept, if he wanted to offer it. And what had he done in return?

He'd violated her. He'd kissed her. Where the hell was the sense in that? And he still couldn't figure out why he'd done it. He watched his reflection as he licked his lips. He could still taste her. His eyes closed and he leaned back against the wall as he recalled the smell of her perfume – the way her lips had felt beneath his. A soft moan escaped him, and he had to shake his head to try and clear the thoughts away.

She was his defender, the reason that he was alive right now. The _only_ reason. He could only hope that that kiss hadn't ruined everything. The only thing he was sure of now was that he needed to stay away from her as much as possible, because if he didn't, he might repeat his misdeed.

His lips were already aching for more contact with hers.

* * *

Hermione spent a restless night trying to sleep on the sofa. She kept waiting for Draco to emerge, but so far he hadn't, and she _needed_ to talk to him. Her mind just would not accept the fact that he'd kissed her without warning or reason, and she had to know why he'd done it. She hadn't meant to dwell on it for so long; she wanted to just go to sleep and forget about it, but she couldn't. Her brain demanded a logical, rational reason for that sort of contact, and she couldn't supply it herself.

She tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable enough to go to sleep, but sleep would not come. She was too hot, then she was too cold, and then the sofa was too lumpy. Any reason that she could possibly find to keep herself awake, she dwelled on. Finally she gave up on sleep and settled for simply lying there, staring up into the darkness.

She had just begun to drift off when she heard the sound of footsteps shuffling softly through the hallway. Her eyes flew open and her heart began to pound inside her chest, but she did not move. She was afraid if she alerted him to her presence, he might leave again.

When she felt him sit down on her feet, though, all she could do was yelp.

He jumped up quickly, and she heard him curse under his breath. She sat up and pushed herself into the corner of the couch. After a moment, she could hear the rustling of his clothes as he moved to leave the room.

"Wait!" she called softly. "Please don't go." The rustling stopped, but he didn't say anything. She knew that he must be standing at the threshold of the hallway with his back turned to her, waiting for her to say what she needed to say.

"We need to talk."

"No, I really don't think we do," he said, his voice low and steady. "I think we've done all of the talking we need to do."

"So, what now?" she asked, perturbed. "Now you're just going to walk away from me and pretend that nothing ever happened, and we're going to go back to normal?"

"Something like that, yeah. Although I doubt that anything between us was normal to begin with." He started to move, but was stopped by an invisible barrier. His eyes widened in the dark, and he whirled around. "Turn the lights on."

"I can't reach the switch," she complained. "And don't think you're going to get out of this by distracting me."

"You don't _need_ the bloody switch, woman! Turn the damned lights on already!"

A small puff of breath escaped her before the lights came on, and he found himself standing almost nose-to-nose with a very angry Hermione. She didn't even seem to notice that she'd done what he'd asked.

"Who do you think you are, coming in here and bossing me around? This is my house, remember? If I want you to sit and talk to me, you should at least have the common courtesy to do so!" Her eyes were blazing. Draco started to tremble – not because of fear, but because the blood was rushing away from his head much quicker than he was used to.

"I haven't forgotten whose house it is – do you _mind?"_ he asked, stepping backwards. "I can't talk with you up in my face like that!"

"Since when?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you even realize what you just did?" he asked, his voice cool. "You blocked me from leaving the room when I said I didn't want to talk to you."

"What?" She looked surprised. He pointed behind him.

"There's a barrier there. I can't leave the room unless you take it down. Not to mention that you turned on the lights without using the switch, and I know you did that consciously, because I told you to do it."

"Ridiculous," she scoffed.

"What's ridiculous, that you did it consciously, or that you did it because I told you to?" He smirked at her. Her palms itched to slap that smirk right off of his face.

"That I did it because you told me to," she said, frowning at him. "And why didn't you want to talk to me, anyway?" His smirk faded.

"We've nothing to talk about. You have no business talking to me, or trying to be my friend. It will all end badly, anyway."

She stared at him. "Are you planning something that I don't know about?"

"No. Things just happen that way."

"I'm not Ginny," she said gently. "I'm not going to get hurt just because you're here, Draco. No one but Dumbledore knows where you are. You're safe here."

"I know you're not Ginny," he said calmly. "But I'm still me. I can't change that – and I'm dangerous to you, whether you realize it or not. So why don't we make things easier on the both of us, and agree to leave each other the hell alone?"

"I can't do that," she said softly, dropping her arms to her sides. "You know I can't."

"Why not?" he asked, his voice laced with anger.

"Because I like you." His stomach turned a quick flip-flop as she turned her back to him.

"You what?"

"I like you," she murmured. "Even if we do fight, we're still getting along nicely. We have things in common. I'm not willing to just throw that away." He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"We fight like cats and dogs," he protested. She turned and gave him a half-smile.

"Are you calling me a feline again? Because I already told you, I'm no feline." He smiled before he could help himself, and her smile widened.

"Stop that," he said quietly, turning his face away.

"Stop what?"

"Quit trying to make things right between us. Things have never been right between us, and they never will be, no matter what happens."

"Bollocks." He turned his head sharply and stared at her. The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "They're already right."

"They're not," he said angrily. "Why do you say that? They've never been more wrong! I _kissed_ you, for Circe's sake!"

"Maybe that's all we needed," she said, shrugging. "Something to break down the barriers we've built around ourselves. Maybe now we can be friends. There's nothing left keeping us from it."

He stared at her as though she'd just told him that she was a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

"You're insane," he murmured. "Solitude has turned your brain to mush."

"You know that's not true," she admonished gently. "Why is this such a hard thing to accept?"

"You've gone round the twist."

"I have not!" She stomped her foot petulantly.

"You know that you look like a spoiled brat when you do that, right?" he asked, highly amused.

"And you sound like one all the time, but I never say it, do I?"

"Why don't you?"

"What?"

"When you think I'm behaving badly, why don't you tell me?"

"I do, or haven't you been paying attention for the last few days?" She frowned.

"It won't work, Weasley. We're too different. We can't be friends."

"Why not? You were friends with Ginny," she pointed out, her cheeks going pink. "And we have lots more in common than you'd like to think."

"Ginny and I were _not_ friends, we were _lovers,"_ he said, enunciating the word. She flushed scarlet.

"We could be friends."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"You stubborn bastard!" Tears filled her eyes and made her vision blurry. "Do you know how rare it is to find _real_ friends?"

"Indeed, I do."

"Then why do you keep saying no to me?"

"Because I can't be friends with you."

"Give me a reason."

"Because I'm attracted to you." Oh, _shit._ The words had slipped out before he could catch them, and now there was no taking them back. She was staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights, and he swore softly. "See what I mean? This is exactly what I was talking about!" He turned to leave, but found the barrier was still blocking him.

"Take it down, Weasley." When she just looked confused, he sighed. "The barrier. Take it down."

"No." He turned and glared at her.

"Now."

"No."

"I mean it, Weasley!"

"I mean it, too. No." She stood her ground, with her hands on her hips. His eyes narrowed and began glittering dangerously. He reminded her of a trapped animal. Truly, she did have him trapped – he was cornered, with nowhere to go.

"I will sit in this room with my eyes closed and ignore you until you take it down," he threatened. "I will not listen to one word that comes out of your mouth!"

"Not even if I tell you that I'm attracted to you, too?" He snorted.

"Right, there's a good way to persuade me to listen. Lie to me some more. What are you going to say next, that you've _always_ been attracted to me?"

"No, I'm not going to say that, because then I _would_ be lying. You were an insufferable git in school, and I was not attracted to you at all." He stared at her, the sarcastic smile fading from his lips.

"You were a know-it-all goody two-shoes, and I hated you."

"You still _are_ a know-it-all, and I hated you more."

"That's not possible," he said, shaking his head. "I had more reasons to hate you. You always beat me out for highest marks in any class. You were best friends with Potter. You got away with murder when it came to rulebreaking. You could do no wrong."

"You called me Mudblood constantly, and belittled any good that I did. You always got me into trouble with Snape, and you mocked my friends and I at every turn. And I didn't see you getting into any trouble either, buddy." She emphasized her last sentence by poking him in the chest with her index finger.

They stared at each other for a long moment before their lips crashed together.

**Chapter Ten**

It was a furious kiss, fueled by intense emotion. Teeth clacked together and tongues dueled as they kissed. He was unaware of the precise moment that her arms wound around his neck, and she wasn't sure at exactly what point that he wrapped his arms around her waist.

His hands snaked up her back, entangling themselves in her hair, and pulling her face closer. Their breaths were intermingled as they kissed, which only made his pulse race more. Somewhere inside the kiss, she moaned softly. The noise brought him back to reality, and he let go of her, breaking the kiss. He stepped backward and tried to catch his breath. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips and stared at him.

"What just happened here?" she whispered.

"I kissed you again," he said quietly, running a shaking hand through his hair.

"But it wasn't just you this time – I did it, too."

"I _told_ you I couldn't be friends with you."

"I can't believe this is happening," she said, shaking her head. Her fingers were still pressed to her lips, and Draco noticed for the first time that her wedding band was gone. He was fairly certain he'd seen her wearing it just yesterday. He frowned in confusion.

"Can't believe _what's_ happening?" She looked up at him, her eyes full of amazement and wonder.

"We just kissed, and I didn't hate it," she said, awed. His frown deeped.

"Thanks, I think."

"No, I mean – I always thought that kissing you would make me physically sick, but-"

"Merlin, Hermione! You really know how to cut down a man's ego, don't you?" he asked incredulously.

"I didn't mean that, I only meant that I disliked you so much in school that it was always difficult to imagine what kissing you would be like." He went very still and eyed her for a moment before grinning cheekily.

"You imagined kissing me in school?" Her cheeks turned scarlet.

"I didn't say that."

"You most certainly did! Damn, if I'd known that all of the Gryffindor girls were so hot for me, I might have broadened my horizons a little!"

"Stop that," she said, barely containing a laugh. "It isn't true, and you know it! It was only natural for me to be curious after I'd read Ginny's diary."

"Well, I'd be lying if I told you I never imagined kissing you, either." Her eyes widened.

"What? But you hated me!" He shrugged.

"Love, hate – they both involve passionate feelings, don't they?"

"And what did you think?"

"I thought it would be very much like kissing a book. Cold, hard, and unfeeling." She cocked her head to give him a strange look.

"That's funny; that's just how I imagined you'd feel."

"Guess we were both wrong, weren't we?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Very wrong," she agreed, nodding. Then, "Do you still dislike me?"

"What?" He looked as though she'd caught him off guard.

"Do you still hate me? Is that what this is about?"

"You know what, Hermione? Sometimes a kiss is just that – a kiss. There doesn't always have to be some deep meaning behind it."

"It didn't mean anything?" she asked, surprised.

"You were lonely. You haven't been kissed in four years. I'm lonely, too. We're stuck here alone in your house together, a man and a woman. Something was bound to happen." She frowned.

"So you just kissed me because you were lonely?"

"No!"

"So you kissed me because you thought I was lonely?" He threw his hands up in frustration.

"No! I did it because I _wanted_ to do it! Now will you leave it alone, and take down the barrier so I can go to bed? As fun as all of this has been, I _really_ don't feel like sitting up for the rest of the night so we can rehash the details! Not everything has a logical explanation, and some things just happen because they happen."

"I don't think the barrier is up anymore," she said softly. "But I don't want you to go."

"Do you know what will happen if I stay out here with you?" he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Because to date, I've never been satisfied with just a kiss."

"I thought you just said that sometimes a kiss doesn't mean anything else."

"Quit being difficult and twisting my words around on me! It's a turn on, and I don't want to be turned on!"

"Please stay."

"I can't. You know that I can't. It's too soon for you."

"Too soon for me?" Her eyes widened. "Draco, in case you haven't noticed, I've been alone for _four years._ It's great that you want to be noble here, but this _really_ isn't the time!"

"I can't believe this," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're standing here and telling me that you want me to stay, even though you know that if I did, I wouldn't be a gentleman about it. This is not happening to me."

"What if this is all we're allowed?" she asked sadly. "What if tomorrow we wake up, and find out you're a free man? What happens then?"

"Then I walk out of your life and never come back," he said resolutely. She looked to be on the verge of tears.

"You can't mean that."

"I can, and I do."

"You would leave me just like that, no looking back?"

"No looking back."

"Then what would it hurt to give me something to remember you by?"

"Something to remember me by?" His gaze was one of disbelief. "I think I've given you plenty to remember me by, over the years."

"Give me something positive."

"No." He turned and got halfway down the hallway when he heard her again.

"Chicken."

"That's not going to work on me, you know," he said quietly. "I was never a Gryffindor. Bravery means nothing to me."

"Apparently neither do I." He turned on his heel and leveled an icy glare at her.

"You never did."

"Why do you try so hard? I know you're lying."

"Am I?"

"Aren't you?" She tilted her head to the side again and gave him a soft look as she walked towards him. He wanted to move; wanted to back away and forget that this moment had ever happened. Instead he found himself rooted to the spot as she neared. She reached out and brushed her fingertips lightly against the side of his face. He closed his eyes against the contact, trying hard to ignore the electricity that passed through her skin to his.

"Why are you trying so hard to keep me here?" he asked softly, not opening his eyes. "I don't understand what's happening between us."

"I don't understand it, either. All I know is that somehow, even through our bickering, we're connecting, and in a big way. I don't want to lose that. You're the only person I've had a connection to in a long time."

His eyes flew open.

"Connection," he gasped. She nodded and gave him a faint smile.

"Yes."

"No – connection," he repeated, his eyes widening. "Don't you see? It's responsible for your wandless magic! Your connection with someone!"

"What?"

"When you lost your connection with Weasley, you became angry and it sparked your magic. When you found a connection with me, you started using your magic again!"

"Are you telling me that my magic was jump-started by you?"

"I'm not for certain, although it would make sense! You didn't want me to leave earlier, so you created a barrier to keep me here. You turned the lights on when I said something. See a pattern?" She frowned.

"But what about when we were outside, and you were warm, but I wasn't?"

"That was you. You're just too big hearted for your own damned good, keeping me warm before taking care of yourself."

"Do you really think I'm that selfless? I think you're giving me more credit than is due."

"No, I believe it. Now, how do you control it? When I told you to turn the light back on, how did you do it?"

"I don't remember."

"We're going to have to work on this tomorrow, you know. Get some rest, so you'll be ready in the morning." He turned to head down the hallway.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed, where else would I be going?" he snorted.

"I thought you might stay with me."

"Look," he said, turning to face her. "I _told_ you how it's got to be. We can't – we just can't. I need to be able to walk away from here when this is all over, and if anything happens between us, I won't be able to do that with a clean conscience."

"Something already has happened between us."

"Not enough to make me stay."

"I don't need you to stay."

"It's not always about you," he said softly, turning and disappearing inside his room. She stood staring after him for a long moment, before retreating to her own bedroom and closing the door.


	10. Chapter 11

Hermione sat huddled up in the small armchair inside the study. The door was closed so she wouldn't disturb Draco. She closed her eyes and focused on the lights, trying to turn them off. When it didn't work, she became frustrated. How had she managed to do it when Draco had told her to? And how had she managed to create that barrier to keep him where she wanted him? None of it made sense.

If her subconscious had been controlling her magic just as Draco had said it was, she believed that she'd being doing more magic than what she was at present. If she'd been able to do it because of her connection to Draco, then why couldn't she do it now? They'd kissed twice and admitted attraction to one another, so their connection should be stronger than ever right now. Why couldn't she do what she wanted to do?

She nearly cried from the frustration – not only from her inability to control her magic, but also because of her inability to communicate to Draco exactly how much she'd come to need him in the few days he'd been there. She might be the one who was supposed to be taking care of him and protecting him, but he was the one who had gotten her to start eating again, and he'd made her feel like a real, live person again. Something about arguing with him always started a fire in her veins. It used to be that she had hated the way that he made her feel with his comments, but now things were different.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, concentrating as hard as she could on turning the lights off. When they flickered but didn't go out, she gasped. She'd done something! And she'd been thinking of fighting with Draco… that was _very_ interesting. Could it be the rush of adrenaline she felt when sparring with him that gave her the power to do something?

She paused for a moment in thought. When she'd magicked the frying pan away, she'd been mad because the grease had popped out and burned her. When she'd created the barrier, she'd been angry that Draco was going to leave without finishing their argument. When she'd turned the lights on, she'd done it at Draco's behest – _while they were fighting_.

Gods, was that the connection he'd been talking about? She pressed cool palms to her flushed cheeks, trying to calm the thoughts that were racing through her mind. Memories of every time she and Draco had ever clashed came rushing, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind. She felt the moment the adrenaline flooded through her body, and she closed her eyes. Suddenly, the lights went out.

She screamed.

It was one of the most wonderful moments of her life, when she solved a puzzle. All of the pieces were falling into place. She bounced up and down happily before closing her eyes and trying to hold on to the rush she'd felt. When it started to fade, she remembered slapping Draco in third year, and suddenly, the lights were back on. She screamed again.

Draco came barreling into the room, his eyes wide and looking generally disheveled. He didn't appear to have been asleep, but she dismissed that thought quickly.

"What happened? Were you attacked?" he asked, his eyes darting around the room.

"I can control it!" she squealed, launching herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, not missing the fact that even though he had proclaimed that he didn't care about her, he responded in kind. His bare arms went around her and held fast.

"What?" he asked, her words sinking in. He pulled away and held her at arms' length. "You've figured out how to control it?"

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes sparkling.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Tell me!"

"It's you!" she declared. He froze for a moment, and his eyes darkened as his arms dropped to his sides.

"That's funny," he said tonelessly. "You had me going there for a minute."

"I'm not kidding," she said, her expression sobering. "It's you. Or, more accurately, it's how angry you make me." His eyebrows shot up.

"What's this?"

"Well, I was in here trying to turn the lights off, and it wasn't working."

"What?" His eyes widened. "I told you that you weren't strong enough for that yet! You could have been hurt!"

"Are you going to listen, or not?" she huffed, her eyes still sparkling. He clamped his lips together. "I got to thinking, and couldn't figure out why I was able to create that barrier or how I'd turned the lights on when you asked me to."

"_Told_ you to, you mean," he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "But then I started thinking about how when we fight, it's not always a bad thing… and I remembered the feeling I get when we fight, and the rush that comes with it – and I concentrated on that feeling, and I did it!"

"What did you do?"

"I turned the lights on and off!"

"Try it again. Show me." He took several steps backwards.

"I can't," she said, gesturing helplessly. "I'm too excited. I could only control it when I was angry."

"I can make you angry," he offered, his eyes glittering. She frowned at him.

"I'm sure you could."

"Do you need me to help now? You were doing just fine without me in here."

"Say something," she said, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes. "Something that you know would make me angry."

"What, that you're totally inept without me?" Her eyes flew open and focused on his smirk, and instantly her temper flared.

"I most certainly am not!" she countered. "I am a competent witch, and I don't _need_ you here to get anything done!" The air around them crackled with emotion, and Draco was acutely aware of the smell of power. He leveled a glare at her.

"Shut the door."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she shrieked, unaware of the door slamming behind her. Draco maintained his composure and didn't take his steely eyes off of hers.

"Turn the lights off."

"You're always so arrogant, just assuming that people can't live without you!" The lights went off, and they were plunged into darkness. She gasped. "What did I do?"

"You didn't feel yourself doing it?" he murmured, his voice completely calm.

"No, I didn't."

"You closed the door and turned the lights off."

"You're closer to the switch, can you turn the lights back on?"

"I would, except that I don't think you used the switch when you turned them off. It's still in the on position."

"Damn it," she swore softly, fumbling around in the dark. "I can't remember where I put the candles, either."

"Summon them," he said impatiently. "You don't need to remember where they are."

"Nonsense. I can't allow myself to get lazy just because of this."

"You won't be being lazy, you'll be practicing." He could almost hear her turning this over in her mind in the silence.

"Fine," she sighed. "Just let me sit down for a moment before I do it again – my head is spinning a bit." She reached out with her arms, feeling around for the armchair. Instead, her hands collided with warm, bare flesh. She could feel her cheeks burning, and was immediately glad that he couldn't see her face.

"You seem to be lost," he said, his voice low. "Let me help you." She felt his arm circle her waist and turn her around, where he guided her slowly to the chair she'd been looking for. Instead of sitting down in it, though, she turned in his arms and touched her hands to his chest. She was painfully aware of the quick breath he sucked in at the contact.

"I didn't mean what I said," she whispered.

"You did."

"I didn't. Don't tell me what I do and don't mean, Draco!" Suddenly he groaned. She felt him bend over and stand back up, and he chuckled.

"Well, here's the candles, but what about the matches?"

"What?" she asked, surprised. "But I didn't mean to-"

"Seems it doesn't take much to get you angry," he commented.

"Not from you, anyway," she muttered, still facing him. They weren't touching anymore.

"Why do you let me get under your skin like that?" he asked, not bothering to hide the curiosity in his voice. "You know that half the time I'm only doing it to agitate you, anyway. Why give me the satisfaction?"

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose it's hard for me to back down when I'm confronted."

"True enough," he conceded. "I've never seen you back down from anything in your entire life."

"Except when you got here," she said, lowering herself gently into the chair. "I'd pretty much given up on living, and you called me on it. It made me mad that you were the one who snapped me out of my stupor."

"You make it sound as though it were a long time ago, when it was really only a few days ago," he commented, amused. "If I upset you so much, why have you been so accommodating to me?"

"You can say _nice_, Draco. It won't kill you, I promise."

"The world may never know." She could _hear_ his smirk. He grunted again. "Would you quit that?" She heard rustling as he moved around. "I mean, I know I'm annoying you, but damn! You don't have to hit my head with everything you summon."

"Why not? It's not like you actually _feel_ it," she retorted. To her surprise, he laughed. In the next moment, he'd struck a match and lit the two candles in his hand. He put both of the candles on the table next to her and sat on the footstool in front of her chair.

"You like arguing with me, don't you?" She averted her eyes, trying not to notice how attractive he was when he leaned forward like that. His elbows rested on his knees as he studied her intently. She wanted nothing more than to reach forward and brush the white-blonde wisps of hair out of his face, but she restrained herself by weaving her fingers tightly together. The action did not go unnoticed, although Draco found himself very surprised by it.

"I like debating on topics I'm familiar with," she said. He grinned.

"That's not what I asked, and you know it."

"I don't enjoy arguing with you, contrary to what you may believe. No, I don't enjoy it."

"You're lying because it embarrasses you. It's okay to like it. I find that the most interesting things happen after a good knock-down, drag-out fight – whether it's verbal or physical." She screwed up her face.

"You're disgusting."

"I'm honest," he corrected her. "And you know the difference."

"I sometimes enjoy being able to discuss intelligent topics with you, yes," she said, her cheeks burning again. "But that does not mean that I like the constant bickering that we do."

"Please," he said, shaking his head. "You're lying again! How can you lie like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"That kiss that happened earlier?" he asked, gesturing towards the living room. She looked away from him. "It happened because we were both emotionally charged from _arguing_. Like it or not, you _know_ that."

"Then why doesn't it happen every time we argue?" she challenged.

"I don't think it would have happened then, if I hadn't broken the ice and kissed you once before that," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "We've gotten into some pretty heated arguments in the past, and afterwards I'd always have to find some sort of release."

"I don't need to hear about it," she said, closing her eyes.

He ignored her and pressed on. "I would either hex the hell out of one of my housemates, or I would go out to the Quidditch Pitch and work it off. Release is therapeutic, you know. What did you do for your release? I know that you did _something,_ because if you'd been walking around with all of those feelings inside, you would have imploded." She laughed, despite herself.

"You're insane if you think I'm telling you," she said.

"I told you what I did."

"You have no shame."

"You're mistaking shamelessness for not having an ounce of pretention in my body."

"I'm sure you have more than an ounce," she said doubtfully. "Fine, if you must know. Sometimes I meditated in the study room in the library, and sometimes I transfigured things into you and smashed them." He blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

"I took great pleasure in doing that," she said, nodding. "Although no one ever knew about it… until now, anyway," she added.

"I find it rather telling that you thought about me so much."

"What?" She frowned. "I hated you!"

"Like I said before, hate, love – it's all passionate." He shrugged nonchalantly, and she felt the sudden desire to slap the smirk off of his face. She reached forward to do it, but before her palm could come into contact with his cheek, he grabbed her wrist. He held her there, with her face mere inches away from his.

"Let me go," she breathed, her chest heaving erratically.

"I also find it interesting that you keep putting yourself in such close proximity to me. Always trying to touch me in one way or another, aren't you, kitten?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Don't call me that. I wanted to slap you, nothing else."

"So do it."

"I can't- you're holding my wrist. Let go."

"Make me."

"You know you really _are_ a child?" she gasped, trying to wrench free of his grasp.

"You like me this way."

"You're aggravating as hell," she denied. His free hand on her other wrist made her freeze, and her breath caught in her throat.

"You are, too, you know. You're just like me."

"I'm nothing like you," she whispered, her pulse racing as his face moved towards hers. "I thought you didn't want this."

"I don't," he agreed softly.

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I can't seem to help myself. You're just too damned irresistible when you get fired up like this."

"Draco," she breathed. His eyes locked with hers.

"Hermione." Her lower lip began to tremble just before his lips slid against hers. Still keeping his grip on her wrists, he leaned her back against the armchair as he kissed her. His mouth trailed across her jawline and down her throat, and finally he released her wrists so his hands could explore on their own.

She let go of the anger and trepidation she'd been feeling only moments before, and surrendered to him, floating away on a ribbon of desire.


	11. Chapter 12

Draco woke up to a blinding light flooding the room. He stuck his hand up to shield his eyes, and then realized something. The window was on the other side of the room – it couldn't be the sun shining in his eyes. He moved his hand and saw that the lights in the room had come back on. Smiling stupidly to himself, he turned to look down at the sleeping figure by his side.

She looked glorious, with her hair splayed across the carpet like that. Her cheeks were rosy, and her skin was almost luminescent. His smile softened as he studied her. He hadn't meant for things to go as far as they had, but he couldn't say that he regretted it. She had been a wildcat, and he had thoroughly enjoyed every moment they'd shared.

He reached out and brushed a curl away from her face, causing her to stir slightly. Rising stealthily from his place beside her, he switched the light off and returned to her side. He stretched out beside her and draped his arm possessively over her slumbering form before drifting back to sleep.

Hermione sighed happily as she nuzzled against the warm body in front of her. His scent filled her nostrils – a clean, spicy smell that shot straight to her core and made her toes tingle. She smiled against his chest before placing a tiny kiss there. He chuckled softly.

"You keep saying you're no feline, but I'd swear you were purring like a kitten just now," he said, his voice thick with amusement. Her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to her chest. She turned and stared down at him, her mouth open in surprise.

"You-" she struggled to find her voice. "You're really here?" He propped himself up on his elbows and arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm really here," he said cautiously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

"I thought it was all a dream," she said incredulously. His eyes narrowed.

"A dream about me, or about someone with red hair?" She was instantly stung.

"Wasn't that what _you_ were thinking about?" she asked defensively. He sat all the way up.

"Of course," he said coldly. He turned and began looking for his pants, but stopped when he felt her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her.

"I wasn't thinking of Ron, Draco." He relaxed a little.

"You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I wasn't thinking of him."

"Why didn't you think I was real, then?" She blushed and turned her face away from him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and his mouth formed a smirk. "You've had dreams about me before, haven't you?"

"No!" she said quickly. She stood up and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself.

"You _have,"_ he said, his eyes sparkling. "Was I everything you imagined, and more?"

"You stupid git," she said, her voice shaking with embarrassment. She moved to leave the room, but he grabbed the bottom of the blanket and yanked on it, causing her to fall. Once she was on the ground, he crawled on top of her and grinned down at her.

"Tell me you dreamt about me," he said. She turned her face away and refused to look at him.

"I'll tell you no such thing," she said hotly.

"Tell me what an earth-shattering experience it was for you," he teased. She snorted and still refused to look at him.

"Right, and stroke your ego? No, thanks. If your ego got any bigger, I'd have to move out of my own house – it would suffocate me!"

"Defy me all you like, kitten, but you _were_ purring just now." She flushed and met his eyes.

"It was nice," she admitted hesitantly. He looked surprised.

"It was?"

"The waking up next to someone, I mean," she said, nodding slowly.

"It was." His grin faded and the look on his face made her heart pound wildly. "It was."

"You already said that," she pointed out softly.

"I did."

"Yes." He was quiet for a moment, content just to look at her face. When she finally gave him a nervous smile, he cleared his throat.

"You look horrible in the morning," he said, his eyes sparkling. She pulled a face at him, and he laughed.

"You're no peach, yourself."

"Really?" He feigned surprise. "I've never had any complaints before."

"Did all of the other women wake up to you in the dark?" His jaw dropped open, and she laughed.

"Are you always this feisty the morning after?" Her cheeks turned pink again, and she averted her eyes, though her smile stayed in place.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

He was quiet for so long that she wondered if she'd said something wrong. When she turned her eyes back to him, the look on his face made her feel flushed all over. He lowered his head and pressed his lips gently to hers. She sighed, and he deepened the kiss. Before she realized it, he'd removed the barrier of the blanket, and they were skin to skin once more.

When Draco finally got out of the shower, Hermione was standing in front of the window in the kitchen, staring out across the back yard as she sipped her coffee. He poured a cup for himself and moved to stand behind her. He was so close that Hermione could feel the heat from his body on her back. She smiled to herself.

"What are we looking at?" he asked.

"Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"It's going to snow today. It's in the air. I can smell it."

"Smell it?" he asked uncertainly, sniffing gingerly. "All I smell is soap and coffee."

"Not an unpleasant combination," she said, smiling. "But I can still smell it."

"Is there going to be much, do you think?" he asked, peering at the gray clouds that hung low in the sky.

"I don't know. There could be – why?"

"Snow makes me nervous."

"You're kidding," she said, turning to look at him. His expression was sober. "Why?"

"What if we're attacked when there's a lot of snow outside? It's difficult to be mobile in the snow, especially without wands to help us."

"No one knows you're here but Dumbledore," she protested. "And we haven't used any magic, so there's no reason anyone would suspect that you're here, either."

"What if someone saw us out shopping?" his voice was full of concern, and it frightened her. She'd never heard him sound so vulnerable before.

"They wouldn't be any wiser," she said, shaking her head gently. "I'm sure they wouldn't recognize me, so if they saw us together, they still wouldn't know where you were. But I don't know many Wizards who frequent Muggle malls." He seemed to relax at this, and nodded.

"You're right." She turned back to the window.

"Tell me something I don't know." She gasped as she felt his fingers pinch her behind.

"You're a smart ass."

"Again, tell me-"

"If you say it again, I won't just pinch you. I'll smack your bum, good and proper." She laughed.

"Stop it, you're going to make me spill my coffee." He shrugged and went to the refrigerator to find something to eat. She stared out the window the entire time he was cooking, finally becoming excited when she saw the first few snowflakes. "Look, Draco," she breathed.

The awe in her voice was enough to make him curious, and he moved to her side. "What am I looking at?"

"The first snow of the year," she said, her eyes wide. "It's magnificent, isn't it?" He glanced at her and saw the rapturous look on her face.

"It's beautiful," he agreed, never looking outside. She turned at the strange note in his voice and caught him looking at her. Her cheeks barely flushed as she gave him a shy smile, then reached out and caressed his smooth cheek with her fingertips.

"You'll want to learn how to do it today, I expect," she said softly, letting her hand drop back to her side. He looked confused for a moment. "The wandless magic, I mean."

"Oh, yes," he said, feeling flustered. He turned and went back to the stove, where he was making pancakes.

"Do we even know if it's something that can be learned?"

"It is, although I think I've read somewhere that it can take a long time to learn."

"Bollocks," she said, frowning. He grinned to himself. She was already starting to sound like him. "You're smarter than all of those other Wizards. You'll pick it up in no time." He turned and gave her an incredulous half-smile. "What are you smiling at?"

"That's the first time I've ever heard you compliment me without some sort of negative comment tagging along behind it." She smiled and stared down into her mug.

"That doesn't say much about me," she said. "But you _are_ smart; you didn't need me to tell you that."

"It's nice to hear it," he said honestly, turning back to the stove before the moment got too personal. Either she understood his need for distance or felt it herself, because she stopped talking and went into the other room.

It was nice, he thought, this being with someone and not feeling like he needed to win anyone else's approval to be with her. With Ginny, there had always been her parents to win over. With Hermione, it was only her. No family left, no friends left. Just her. He felt a moment of sadness for her that she had once been so loved and had come to be so isolated.

Then again, it was just another thing that they had in common. Sure, his mother was still alive, but for all intents and purposes, she was nothing but a vegetable. She didn't talk, she didn't smile, and she didn't even recognize Draco the one time he'd been to see her. He was alone, too.

He sat down at the table and began to eat when he heard music. He concentrated on it for a moment, trying to make out what it was. When he heard the words, he grinned to himself. She was already listening to Christmas music!

When he'd finished eating and washing his plate and fork, he went into the living room, where she was sitting in front of the blazing fire, wearing a turtleneck. He laughed, and she turned around. His laughter faded when he saw her carefully applied lipgloss and her hair pulled up in a neat ponytail. She blushed.

"I look ridiculous, I know," she said, shaking her head. "But I can't help it. I used to watch these old movies where the women all looked so glamorous in front of the fire, and it was always snowing outside. I do this every year when it first snows."

He stood rooted to the spot, his gaze locked on her. She cleared her throat nervously. "I didn't mean to surprise you, or anything. I can go in the study, if you want the television – there's a fireplace in there, too." She rose to her knees before he spoke.

"Don't," he said, his voice unsteady. She looked at him, her eyes full of uncertainty.

"Are you sure? You look pretty spooked."

"I'm not spooked, just surprised," he said, sitting next to her on the rug. She relaxed and resumed her seat, and they stared into the fire in silence for a while, just letting the Christmas music play.

"I used to love Christmas, you know," he said quietly. She turned to look at him, and watched the way the flames cast shadows on his face. "My mother and father would always be the first ones awake, and they would come and wake me up while it was still dark outside."

"That sounds lovely," she breathed, not wanting him to stop talking. It was the first time he'd told her anything so personal.

"It was," he admitted, a faint smile crossing his face. "It was always the highlight of my day, to wake up and see them together like that. Father was always gone on business, and it was rare that they were together in one room of the Manor. But at Christmas, they were never apart. We were always together, as a family."

She didn't say anything, just watched him as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Mother used to insist that we open all of our gifts in the parlor in front of the fireplace. She loved the snow, too." Hermione turned away from him to stare into the fire again. "I never thought I'd meet another person in the world who would remind me of her like you do." She turned to give him a look of surprise, and he turned to meet her gaze.

"I remind you of-?"

"My mother, yes," he said, nodding. She was quiet for a moment as they simply looked at each other.

"Thank you." He gave her a curt nod and turned back to the fire. "Christmas isn't too far away."

"I know, it's closer than I thought."

"You know, if you don't have anywhere else you'd rather be…" her voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands. "I mean, if you didn't mind…"

"Are you trying to invite me _here_ for Christmas, Hermione?" His lips curled up in a very amused smile.

"I think so," she said, nodding.

"Assuming that I make it through this current ordeal alive, I'd love to." Her head shot up and she gave him a breathless smile that made his chest swell.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. But don't expect any big, fancy gifts from me – I'm poor now, remember?" She laughed.

"I didn't ask for you to bring a gift," she said, shaking her head. "It would just be nice to have you here. We could sing carols, watch cheesy old movies, eat until we pop – you know, the usual things you do on Christmas."

"I will _not_ sing," he said, half-laughing. "And you can't make me, either."

"Come on, Draco," she said, bumping her shoulder against his. "I'm sure you have a lovely singing voice."

"I want to hear yours first."

"No way," she said, laughing. "All right, before we waste the whole day away teasing each other, why don't we get started on the wandless magic?"

"Are you telling me that you don't like sitting here with me?"

"I'm not saying that at all," she said. "It's very…"

"Seductive?" he offered. She laughed.

"Romantic." He stood and reached his hand out to help her up. When she slid her hand into his, a tiny thrill went through him. When she stood up, she was standing so close to him that she thought for a moment that he might kiss her. Instead, he turned and headed toward the study. Slightly disappointed, she followed him.

"So," he said, turning to her. "Where should we start?"

She frowned. "I'm not really sure. We haven't been able to find any reading material to prepare us, so we're going to have to improvise, so to speak."

"You just started when you got really angry, didn't you?"

"I think so."

"Fine," he said, lowering himself onto the sofa. "Get me mad, then."

She sat down in the armchair and tucked her legs beneath her. "I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can," he said, shaking his head. "It's what we do best, remember? Fight?"

"Right." She took a minute to think, then frowned at him. "But will it work, if you _know_ I'm just saying things to make you mad? You'll just think it's funny."

"I won't think it's funny," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes.

"See? You're already getting frustrated with me, and we haven't even started yet."

"If you'd just get on with it, and quit stalling, I'd be all right."

"Get on with it?" She snorted. "You mean like last night?" His eyes flew open.

"Excuse me?"

"Just get on with it and get it over with seemed to be your motto last night," she said, her voice full of bitterness.

"It was not!"

"It was," she said, nodding. "I could tell that it wasn't _me_ you were really with last night – you were a million miles away."

"Look," he said angrily, his eyes glittering. "I told you I wasn't thinking of Ginny, and I meant it!"

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just like I wasn't thinking of Ron." His eyes narrowed, and the lights flickered. She gasped.

"So you _were_ thinking of him this morning," he hissed. She held up her hands in surrender.

"Draco, please," she said, glancing at the lights. They were still flickering.

"Both times?" he asked.

"Neither time," she admitted softly. The lights stopped flickering, and his jaw unclenched. He stared at her for a moment, then his jaw dropped.

"You- you were _baiting_ me!"

"I couldn't say something that you knew I didn't mean," she explained softly, her cheeks turning pink. "It wouldn't have worked."

"I don't know if I can keep doing this," he murmured, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Why not?"

"Just the thought of you picking a fight with me and baiting me so ruthlessly turns me on."

She gave him a nervous laugh. "You are _such_ a masochist!"

"Masochist? Why do you think that?"

"You're just asking for the big hurt, aren't you, desiring women who are destined to betray you?"

"What?"

"Someone who baits you and lies to you like that is only going to use you and walk away."

"I don't mind being used." She frowned at his calm expression.

"You don't? You don't mind a woman using you for sex and then just walking away from you?"

"No one has ever done that to me before," he said, shrugging.

"Yet," she added.

"I hope you're not insinuating that you'd be the first."

"What would you care if I was? You don't care about me, and you wouldn't hesitate to walk away from me. Why shouldn't I be the same way?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

"It's not in your nature to be so cruel."

"It's self preservation, _Malfoy._" His eyes narrowed to slits.

"What?"

"Self preservation," she repeated, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She rose to her feet. "I won't give myself to you just to have you walk away and break my heart." She moved towards the door, hoping that he was taking the bait.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. We're through talking."

"You're damned right we are." She stopped and turned to look at him, only to have his lips crash against hers. She was so surprised that she didn't think to fight him; she just went limp in his arms.

Suddenly they were in her bedroom, and he was pushing her down on the bed. She didn't have time to register her surprise before she realized that all of her clothes were gone, as well as his. When his lips descended on hers again, she gave up all hope for rational thought, and allowed herself to be swept away.

They were lying on the bed and trying to catch their breath when she finally spoke. "Do you realize that your power surpasses mine?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at her.

"When I get mad, I don't transport both of us into the bedroom and remove all of our clothes," she pointed out. He thought about it for a minute, and a smile slowly spread across his face.

"No, but it'd be a lot more fun if you did." She smiled and pulled the sheet up, tucking it beneath her arms. He moved closer to her and planted several feather-light kisses on her shoulder, making her shiver.

"We'd never get out of bed if we wound up in here every time we fought," she whispered, smiling softly.

"An interesting theory. Why don't we try it out?"

"You're awful," she said, laughing. She swatted gently at him. "Don't you want to practice more?"

"Why did you call me that?" he asked curiously. Her smile faded.

"Because I knew that it was the one sure thing that would get you angry with me."

"Surprisingly enough, it wasn't what made me angry."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"Then what was it?"

"I'm not going to tell you, because then you might tell me that you didn't mean it, and if you say it again, it won't work." She nodded at this answer, seeing its logic. What he didn't tell her was that he was more afraid that she would tell him she _did_ mean it – that she would walk away from him without looking back. He'd told her he would do it to her, but that was before they'd shared a bed.

He wasn't so sure it would be so easy now.


	12. Chapter 13

Hermione laughed at Draco when he went to take his second shower of the day, but she realized as soon as he was gone that she missed him already. She scoffed silently at her strange new feelings of attachment; she knew that if she showed him how much she already cared about him, he would push her away.

She slid a tape into the VCR and an old black and white movie appeared on the screen. She draped a blanket across her legs and stretched out on the couch to watch it. Several minutes later, she was dozing off. She wasn't used to so much physical activity in one day, let alone in one morning.

Draco lowered himself onto the end of the couch and tried not to wake her. Her eyes opened slightly, and she gave him a sleepy smile as she moved her feet out of the way so he could sit more comfortably.

"Feel better?" she murmured.

"Much. You hungry at all?"

"Is that all you think about?" she asked, giggling. He arched an eyebrow at her and gave her a wicked look.

"It's not _all_ I think about," he murmured. She giggled again, and he grinned at the way her cheeks flushed scarlet.

"We probably need to get back to work," she said, starting to sit up. He put out a hand and stopped her from rising.

"You're exhausted," he said, with no small amount of satisfaction. She snorted. "Seriously, you need to rest."

"Right," she said thankfully, reclining back into her former position. Her eyes drifted closed again, and he picked up the remote control. She thrashed about on the cushions, trying to get comfortable. Finally he stopped her with a gentle hand on her ankle.

"Can't get comfy?"

"No," she said apologetically. "Maybe I should go to my room, so I don't bother you."

"Why don't you just rearrange yourself?" he suggested. "Try turning around and putting your head down here." He patted his lap, and she gave him a hesitant look.

"Are – are you sure it would be all right? I won't be encroaching on your space or anything, will I?"

"I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't all right," he reprimanded her. She didn't give him a chance to change his mind, and she turned and laid her head gently in his lap. She watched as he flipped through the channels at high speed. When her eyelids finally started to feel heavy again, she was startled to feel his fingers combing gently through her hair. She forced herself to keep her eyes closed – she didn't want him to stop just because she was awake.

She found that the motion of his fingers playing with her hair was extremely soothing, and it relaxed her to the point of sleep.

For his part, Draco had always wanted to touch her hair; had always been intensely curious as to what it felt like. He wouldn't have felt comfortable asking her outright if he could feel it – it would feel like too much of an admission as to how much interest he had in her, and he'd never wanted her to know that.

Her hair wasn't as wiry as he'd imagined it would be. It wasn't as silky soft as his own hair, but it was rather pleasant to touch. He sifted strands of chestnut hair through his fingers as he skimmed through the channels, searching for something decent to watch.

When Hermione snuggled closer to him, his heart leapt into his throat. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was growing attached to her. All through his shower, he'd thought about her and the things they'd done last night. Either she'd been feisty in bed just because it had been four years, or she was just naturally that energetic. Either way, it was a night he knew that he'd never forget.

And she'd looked so sweet and vulnerable falling asleep there on the couch like that – it had been too tempting to sit there with her and not touch her. She was exhausted, and rightly so. After all of their physical activity, and then the emotional and mental exertion they'd both undergone during his 'lesson,' he believed that she'd earned a little rest.

The wandless magic had been incredible for him to experience. He'd been able to smell her power when he'd gotten her agitated to the point where she'd turned the lights off. He had to smirk at the thought that his power surpassed hers; when she'd agitated him, he'd magicked away their clothes and transported them to her bedroom.

His eyes widened. He'd managed to transport the both of them from one room to another! Would he be able to do it again? His face cracked into a grin – he'd be able to take them both back to the bedroom, no question about that. It was other places he wondered about now. Would it exert him or drain all of his energy? Moving them both into the bedroom had made him feel a little weak, but he'd still had enough energy for her.

He glanced down at her sleeping form and brushed some stray hairs away from her face. She was amazing, this woman. He'd known beforehand that she had a big heart and helped people, but he'd never imagined that she would be so good to him. She'd told him that Ginny was a one-of-a-kind woman, but he knew she was wrong. Hermione was just like her – forgiving, and willing to give him another chance – albeit he argued with her much more than he had with Ginny.

Something about Hermione just made him want to fight.

"Ouch," she muttered, her eyes still closed. She twisted her head to one side, then the other, trying to get the pain to stop. When she opened her eyes, she remembered how she'd fallen asleep. She was still lying on the couch, with her head in Draco's lap. She turned around and looked up at him, and a soft smile appeared on her face. He was asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch, and the remote still in his hand.

She sat up slowly, not wanting to wake him, and took the remote from him. She placed it on the coffee table, then turned and draped part of the blanket over him. She brushed his hair away from his face, taking time to enjoy the peaceful expression he wore in sleep. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, then cuddled up next to his side and went back to sleep.

When Draco awoke, he found that Hermione had moved sometime during the night. Instead of lying with her head in his lap, now she was sitting up with her head on his shoulder. Instantly his arm went around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. He'd never just slept next to a woman before – at least, not without having sex first, anyway. Last night had been a revelation.

He listened to her soft, steady breathing, and wondered at the events that had transpired between them. So much had changed in the last two days that he wondered if perhaps he might be imagining it all. When she sighed and snuggled closer to him, the realization that it was all _real_ hit him hard.

He had only come here seeking temporary refuge from the Death Eaters while Dumbledore worked to clear his name, but things had changed. When he'd arrived at her home, he'd nearly been a broken man. Everything had been stolen from him – his fortune, his magic, and the woman he loved. How was it that this fragile woman had been able to put all of the pieces back together so well? She'd given him back his magic, and she'd given him new hope.

She shifted again, and he heard her breathing change. She was waking up. She yawned and stretched languidly before peering up at him through barely opened eyes. For the second time in two days, she bestowed upon him a breathtaking sleepy smile.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he whispered back.

"I'm sorry I didn't wake you up," she said. He shrugged.

"I didn't mind sleeping out here."

"I know, but sleeping in a bed is so much better," she laughed. "No neck pain, no back pain, and soft pillows." He frowned at her.

"Are you saying that my lap isn't soft?"

She laughed again. "No, your lap was soft. But your shoulder is a bit bony."

"Why didn't you go to bed when you woke up?"

"I didn't want to just leave you out here by yourself," she said sweetly. "I would have felt bad doing that."

"Didn't want to leave me by myself, or didn't want to leave me, period?" He arched an eyebrow at her as she blushed. She moved away from him a bit, leaving him feeling cold on the side she'd been cuddled up to.

"Does it matter?" she asked, averting her eyes. He slid a finger under her chin and gently forced her to look at him.

"It does to me." Her stomach did nervous somersaults as his mercurial eyes penetrated hers.

"I didn't want to leave you," she admitted breathlessly. He inched forward slowly and caught her lips with his. Instinctively her arms went up around his neck, and her fingers tangled in the back of his hair. She was pleasantly surprised when she felt his hand touch her cheek gently and draw her closer to him. He kissed her over and over, rendering her breathless. When he finally pulled away, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were sparkling.

"I'm glad you didn't leave. Although going to bed would have been nice." She tried not to look hurt at his words, even though they implied that he would rather have been tucked away in his bed without her nearby. Her heart sank.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, looking down at her hands, which had dropped to her lap.

"I didn't mean alone," he said, as if reading her thoughts. She slowly brought her eyes back up to meet his.

"Oh," she whispered, her heart fluttering madly again. She opened her mouth to say more, but before she could, there was a knock at her door. Draco immediately jumped up, and her eyes widened. "Who could that be? No one ever visits me!"

"Don't answer it," he whispered, helping her to her feet. She gave him a strange look.

"Do you think if it was really someone practicing dark magic that they'd knock?"

"Good point," he said, relaxing by degrees. "Don't you have some way of telling who it is before you open the door?"

"Just the eyehole," she said, shaking her head. He watched with growing unease as she moved quietly towards the door and looked through the hole. When she took a step back, he started towards her. She turned and gave him a wide-eyed look.

"Who is it?"

"Molly Weasley." His heart fell into his stomach, and he paled.

"What?"

"Hermione?" Molly called through the front door. "Dear, are you in there?"

"Do you want to hide?" Hermione whispered. Draco nodded, and moved into the other room just as Hermione unfastened the locks and opened the door. Molly greeted her daughter-in-law with a tight hug, then watched as Hermione bolted the door again.

"How have you been, dear?"

"Fine," Hermione said honestly. "I've been doing a lot better, actually." Molly examined her face closely.

"You do look better," she said, nodding with satisfaction. "You look as though you've started to eat, too. Good on you, Hermione. You're far too bony. You don't look at all like the girl I remember."

Hermione sat down in her favorite armchair and tucked her legs beneath her. Undoubtedly Draco was just in the hallway, listening to every word they spoke. The thought made her smile. Molly tilted her head and gave her a curious look.

"Are you quite all right, dear?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Hermione said, nodding. "Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine. I was up early this morning, preparing breakfast for Arthur and the boys." Hermione nodded, knowing that by 'the boys,' Molly meant the twins and Charlie. Bill had died right before Harry had, and though Percy was living, he had cut ties with his family long ago.

"How is everyone?"

"They're good. Always ready for action of any sort," Molly said, smiling sadly. "But everyone misses you. Charlie in particular would like to know when you're coming back."

"Does he?" Hermione asked politely. Charlie had made it no secret after Ron's death that he was interested in Hermione – in more than a friendly way. She had also made it clear, as politely as she could have and to anyone who would listen, that she was _not_ interested in him in return.

"You know, Hermione, not a day goes by when we don't think about you. I know that you loved Ron, and your wedding day was one of the happiest days of my life, but it's been four years since Ron's death, and we'd love for you to be a part of the family again." Without warning, a candle on the coffee table lit up. Hermione's eyes widened; only Draco could have done that. Was he _jealous?_

"Sorry about that," Hermione said quickly. "That's been happening a lot lately."

"Is there something you need me to take care of?" Molly asked, pulling her wand out of her pocket. Hermione shook her head vehemently.

"No! No magic," she said. Molly stared at her with surprise etched across her face. "It's just – ever since Ron died, I've given up magic, and I don't want anything else to do with it, is all."

"I see," Molly said slowly, putting her wand away. "Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Everything is wonderful," Hermione said. "I feel better than I have in months. Years, even."

"Are you seeing someone?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise, and Molly waited patiently for her answer. "What?"

"Are you seeing someone? The last time I saw you this happy was right before Ron died. It's all right if you are, Hermione. We'd like to see you happy."

"Uhm," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "I'm not seeing anyone." The blanket that she had shared with Draco the night before flew off of the couch, landing in a heap on the floor. The flame on the candle shot high into the air, and Hermione jumped to her feet and blew it out. "Molly, I hate to sound so ungrateful, but is there any way I could persuade you to come back some other time?"

"Of course, dear," Molly said, rising from her chair. "If you need me, you know where to find me." Hermione unfastened the bolt and gave Molly one more hug before the older woman left. Almost immediately, Draco emerged from the hallway, his eyes so cold that it made Hermione shiver.

"Charlie Weasley is interested in you, and you didn't see fit to mention it to me?"

"Why should I tell you that?" she asked, surprised at the anger in his voice. "I thought it was ancient history. It's been over three years since I found out. And besides, he _knew_ I was never interested in him. I've never seen him as anything more than a brother."

"So he sends his mother here to plead his case?" he asked, clenching his jaw. "Why couldn't he be a man and come out here himself?"

"He's probably too busy doing work for the Order," she said, frowning. "And besides, he probably didn't even know that Molly was coming out here, for whatever reason."

"Coward," he spat.

"What's with you?" she asked incredulously. "You knew she was out here, and yet you pulled those stunts in there? She _knew_ something was going on – she's not stupid!"

"You told her you weren't seeing anyone," he shot back, his eyes narrowing.

"What do you care? I'm _not_ seeing you! Just because we slept together doesn't mean that we're seeing each other! What would you have done if I _had _told her?"

"I don't know," he said, turning away from her.

"Exactly," she said, tears stinging her eyes. "You would have lied, too, and you know it! You wouldn't have told her about me if you had the chance! You wouldn't have wanted to sully Ginny's memory and made her think any less of you, and you sure as hell wouldn't have wanted her to think you'd stooped so low as to sleep with _me!_" He turned around and glared at her.

"That's not true! Is that why you didn't tell her about me? Because you thought she'd think less of you, sleeping with me after being married to her precious son?" Somewhere in the background, Hermione was vaguely aware of the sound of glass shattering.

"I didn't tell her because I didn't want her to know that you were here!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. "But you're such an ass, you can't see that! I don't understand why you're so jealous!"

"Oh no, kitten," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Jealousy would imply that I cared about you. Let's not get the wrong impression, now. We both know what this was – convenience." She stared openly at him, her pain and frustration obvious on her face. The tears flowed freely, and she made no attempt to hide them from him.

"I see." Her voice cracked and she turned away from him. She picked up the blanket they'd shared and folded it gently over her arm before taking it into her bedroom. She exited the bedroom and went into the kitchen, oblivious to his watchful gaze as she did so. He moved to the doorway of the kitchen and watched as she carefully swept up the broken glass that was spread across the tiled floor.

She emptied the dust pan into the waste can and replaced the broom before pouring herself a glass of milk and heading into the living room. She sat down on the couch and picked up the remote, determined not to let him see just how much he'd hurt her.

He watched her carefully, waiting for her to explode. He waited for anything – yelling, screaming, throwing things – but nothing happened. She just sat down on the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her, as was her habit to do, and began flipping through the channels.

He stood there until he couldn't take it anymore. He moved in front of her, and still she didn't blink. He knew he was blocking her view of the television, but she still continued to flip through the stations as though she could see the screen. It made him furious.

"Look at me," he demanded. She ignored him. "You can't just ignore me and pretend that I'm not here!"

When his words didn't garner a response, he leaned down and crushed his lips against hers. He knew that he was hurting her, but he didn't care. He was ashamed of his earlier behavior; ashamed of his jealousy and even more ashamed that it had forced him to admit to himself the depth of his feeling for her.

She didn't push him away, but she didn't respond, either. He didn't know which was worse. He wished she would rage at him; he knew how to deal with an angry Hermione. When he began to taste blood, he pulled away and stared down at her. She appeared to be staring straight through him. He wouldn't have thought that she felt anything at all, had he not seen the single tear that made its way down her face.

She stood and gently pushed past him, muttering on her way out of the room, "I need some rest." He waited until she was out of the room before he sank down on the couch, dropping his face into his hands.


	13. Chapter 14

Draco wondered if he'd messed things up irrevocably as he fixed dinner. Hermione had emerged once for lunch, and had ignored the grilled cheese he'd fixed her. She'd made some toast and poured a glass of milk, then took it back to her room to eat. But now he was determined to win her over – _again. _

He was preparing lamb seasoned with rosemary, and the scent of the herb filled the entire house. He hoped that Hermione would be drawn out of her room by it, but he hadn't seen her since he'd started cooking. He sat down at the table with a glass of wine and closed his eyes.

He'd had her trust, and he'd had her affection, he was sure of it. She'd been too kind to him for her not to have cared about him, and he knew deep in his heart that she would never have shared a bed with him if she hadn't harbored feelings of some sort for him. He could only hope that his jealousy hadn't ruined things.

And really, why _had_ he gotten so angry when she'd explained her reasoning for not telling Molly about them? It wasn't like he'd committed to her, or expressed anything other than physical attraction to her.

He rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with his hands. _Would_ he have denied her, if Molly had asked him? He doubted it, if for no other reason than the simple fact that Molly had been one of the first to believe him capable of Ginny's murder.

He had frozen at the first sound of Molly's gentle voice, and an incredible ache filled hi s entire body. He ached for Ginny, whom he'd lost, but he'd also ached for the closeness that he'd had with her entire family. They hadn't welcomed him with open arms, but they had accepted him as Ginny's choice, and they'd been like a second family to him.

Then all of that had ended, and he'd found the same comfort in Hermione. Being in her arms felt like coming home – she was totally accepting of him, and she believed him to be innocent of the crime he was being accused of. Shame flooded him as he realized that she believed he was a good man, even if they tended to fight a lot.

Even more humbling was the realization that he _wanted_ to be the good man that she thought he was.

A slight scuffling noise made him look up. Hermione was in front of the fridge, opening the door. She looked tired, and her eyes were red and puffy. He realized that he hadn't heard any crying, and wondered if she'd gotten control of her magic again and made her crying silent.

"I'm making lamb," he offered weakly. She didn't respond. She refilled her glass of milk and started toward the hallway, but he jumped up and blocked her path. She gave him an impatient look, but remained silent. "You could at least stay and eat dinner with me. It's not like you'd have to speak to me while you're eating."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," she said neutrally.

"Why not?"

"I should have just listened to you in the first place," she said, shrugging. "You have free reign of the house. We'll just ignore each other."

"That was a stupid idea, and you know it, otherwise you _would_ have done it when I suggested it."

"I don't know. If I had done it, we wouldn't be where we are now, would we? Now please let me by."

"I won't, damn it! You can't just pretend that I'm not here – not after all we've been through!"

"Look," she started. She was interrupted by a tapping noise on the window that startled both of them. He jumped in front of her and made his way cautiously to the window, opening it for the caramel colored owl that tapped on it. The bird held out its leg, waiting for Draco to untie the rolled-up parchment that it was carrying. When he'd removed it, the bird took off again.

"That was a Hogwarts owl," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. "It would be my guess that you're now a free man again." He glanced up at her, but she was staring down into her glass. He unrolled the parchment and began to read.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_I am more than pleased to inform you that early this morning, the Order managed to corner one of the Dark Lord's followers. This individual had been involved in Miss Weasley's death, and after certain methods of persuasion were implemented, has confessed everything. Your name has been cleared, and you may return to your flat as soon as you wish. Please tell Ms. Weasley that I will be in contact with her soon. I wish to thank her for her help._

_Sincerely,_

Albus Dumbledore 

He gripped the parchment with shaking hands, re-reading it twice before the words actually registered in his mind. Had Molly known, then, when she'd come this morning, that he'd been here? He got the strange feeling that she had. He looked up to see that Hermione was still standing there, rooted to the spot.

"I'm free," he said quietly. She nodded.

"Good luck." She left the room before he could speak again. He walked back to his room slowly, taking his time as he went. He held on to the foolish hope that she would stop him; that she would come bounding out of her room at any moment and tell him that she wanted him to stay.

When he had finished packing up all of the things she'd purchased for him, he left her house without letting her know that he was leaving. He went back to his flat, where he was not surprised to find Dumbledore waiting for him. He was, however, surprised to see Arthur and Molly Weasley there as well.

He dropped his bags on the floor inside the front door, and fastened the deadbolt behind him. Molly was the only one who seemed to notice, but she said nothing. He leveled a calm look at them and waited.

"Welcome home, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. Draco nodded.

"Thanks. What's this, then? A homecoming party?" He looked at Molly and Arthur, who were fidgeting. "What are they doing here?"

"We came to apologize," Molly offered. "We were wrong about you, and we're sorry." Draco shrugged and went into his kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of firewhiskey.

"How is Ms. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing Draco over the top of half-moon spectacles. Arthur looked slightly surprised, although Molly didn't. Draco downed the alcohol and met Molly's gaze.

"She's fine. Unscathed, even."

"I hope the two of you managed to get along while you were there," Dumbledore said amiably. Draco nodded.

"We got along just fine. So you _did_ know this morning, then?" He watched Molly as he asked. Arthur turned and gave her a look of open curiosity, but Dumbledore kept his eyes on Draco.

"I did," she admitted.

"Didn't care to speak to me then, even though you knew I was there and knew I was innocent. It's refreshing to finally know where I stand, really."

"You went to see Hermione this morning?" Arthur asked, bewildered. Molly nodded.

"I did. I was going to fetch Draco, but Hermione never even mentioned he was there. She wouldn't let me do magic in the house, even though the candle lit by itself and the blanket flew off of the couch."

"I suspect that that was her restrained magic manifesting itself," Dumbledore said. When Draco turned to give him a questioning look, he could have sworn he saw the slightest movement of the old man's head, discouraging him from revealing anything to the contrary.

"What do you mean?"

"She's been without magic for four years now, Molly," he explained patiently. "Did you truly think she would never embrace it again? Magic – true magic – refuses to be kept hidden. I suspect she's been doing it for a long time, and has only just recently come to realize what's happening."

"She can do magic without a wand?" Arthur asked, shocked.

"Why is that so surprising?" Draco asked, frowning. "Potter did it."

"But Harry was an exceptional wizard," Molly argued. "He – I mean, I always assumed that because of the prophecy-"

"You don't think she's an exceptional witch?" Draco asked through clenched teeth. He was so intent on Molly's reaction that he failed to notice Dumbledore's interested glance.

"No, that's not what I meant," Molly explained, flustered. "I just meant-"

"You just meant that no one other than Potter is exceptional," Draco finished for her. He turned to Dumbledore. "Again I'm forced to ask, what in the bloody hell are they doing here?"

"It would seem that we're not welcome here, darling," Arthur said softly to his wife.

"Would seem?" Draco sneered. "It doesn't _seem _that way, it _is_ that way."

"We came to apologize," Molly said, her face flushing.

"After I'd been cleared. You didn't stop to entertain the thought that I might actually be innocent. Despite knowing that I was in love with your daughter and that up until her death, she was the best thing that had ever happened to me, you still thought me guilty."

"What else should we have thought?"

"You should have had more faith in your daughter than that. She would not have had anything to do with me if she had thought even for a second that I was capable of that sort of treason. She knew that I loved her, and it was enough for her to trust me."

"We can't go back in time and change things," Arthur protested. "But we can apologize and try to move forward from this point."

"I don't see where that's necessary," Draco said coldly. "I no longer have any ties to your family."

"Actually," Molly said, looking down at the floor. "You do."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And how is that?"

"Our daughter-in-law is in love with you." Arthur turned and stared open-mouthed at Molly. Draco's jaw clenched so tightly that he wondered for a brief moment if he would break his teeth.

"What in the world are you on about?" Arthur asked. "Hermione loathes him! And that fact aside, he was there less than a week! That's not long enough to fall in love with someone you used to hate!"

"Ginny used to hate me, and she fell in love with me in less than a week."

"Are you saying that Hermione is in love with you?"

"I'm saying no such thing," Draco denied, his eyes narrowing. "And I don't think it wise of you to say either, Molly."

"I wouldn't say it if it weren't true," she said defensively. "I know what she looked like when she was around Ron, and I know what she looked like this morning." She turned to her husband. "She was radiant, Arthur. She's been eating, and she was clean, and she had rosy cheeks. She was the very picture of a woman in love."

"Impossible," Arthur said, scratching his head. "She loved Ron, and he is so very different from Ron! Our son was open and honest and loving, and he was a good boy."

"There you have it, then," Draco said, his lips a thin line. "Do you mind leaving now?"

"Arthur," Dumbledore broke in gently. "I think you're overlooking something very important. Hermione is a grown woman, and she knows her own heart. Just because Mister Malfoy has a less than stellar history with her doesn't mean that she can't change her mind." Draco turned and studied the old man, looking for any trace of amusement or facetiousness. When he found none, he turned his eyes back to the Weasleys.

"Do you love her?" Arthur asked quietly.

"That's none of your damned business," Draco snapped, growing tired of their line of conversation.

"You do," Molly said, her eyes full of wonder. "You love Hermione."

"I never said that."

"Oh, sweet," Molly whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "You didn't have to."

"Please," he snorted.

"Are you ashamed of your feelings for her?"

"What, are you my parents now, or something? Better yet, counselors?"

"Perhaps they just _thought _that they had feelings for each other," Arthur mused. "After all, Draco is on the rebound after just losing Ginny, and Hermione just lost Ron…" his voice trailed off.

"_Just_ lost?" Draco echoed in disbelief. "Can you even _hear_ yourself? Do you know how ridiculous of a statement that is? It's been four years, Arthur!"

"If you have feelings for her, why aren't you still there?" Arthur asked.

"I never said I had feelings for the woman! Besides," he added, turning his back to all of them. "Your wife saw fit to come and plead your eldest son's case to her this morning."

"What?" Arthur gasped, turning to Molly. She shrugged.

"I thought it might get her to confess that he was there and it didn't work. She turned him down, as always." Draco half turned to look at her.

"As always?"

"She's never shown even the slightest interest in Charlie, even when he was fawning all over her. Poor boy, he felt bad telling her how he felt after his brother passed, but he saw his chance and seized it – which is more than I can say for you." Draco turned all the way around to glare at her.

"What did you just say?"

"At least Charlie knows his own feelings well enough to pursue what he wants. You just walked away from it. How does it feel, knowing that she loved you, and knowing that you just let her slip through your fingers?"

"I know no such thing," he said angrily. "And your continued presence in my home is really starting to piss me off."

"Christmas is in less than two weeks," Molly said gently, changing the subject. "And I know that it's probably not worth anything to you, but if you'd like, you're more than welcome at the Burrow."

"Right," he sneered. "I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for me to show up, if I were you."

"All right," Molly said, nodding. She turned to her husband. "Are you ready, then?" He nodded, and they exited without looking back. Dumbledore stood from his chair and approached Draco.

"I wanted to wait until they left to tell you this last bit of good news. Your fortune has been restored to you."

"What?" Draco asked, lowering himself into a chair. "How? I thought that the Ministry seized all of my parents' assets."

"They had, but it turns out that it was only temporary. They could only hold it as long as you were under suspicion of being one of Voldemort's followers. The individual that we caught this morning told them that you weren't among his ranks, and hadn't ever been, although they had wanted you to be."

"So the Manor-?"

"Is yours, any time you should choose to return there. And I hope you don't mind, but I've restored the wards around it, so no one can get in unless you so choose." Draco's hands began to tremble violently. He was rich again!

"Oh," he said quietly.

"And I thought you should know that last night, the magic detectors around Ms Weasley's home went off."

"What?" Draco shot up from his chair, looking panicked.

"Actually, they started going off shortly after you arrived there," Dumbledore explained, his eyes twinkling madly again.

"Why weren't we ever attacked, then?"

"I think that several attacks were attempted, but they all failed."

Draco relaxed a bit. "So you were able to head them off, then?"

"I had nothing to do with it. Neither did any other members of the Order." Draco frowned at this.

"Then what stopped them?"

"I have many theories, but I think that the most likely explanation is that you and the young lady didn't wish to be disturbed."

"You mean," Draco began. He was silent for a moment, trying to absorb Dumbledore's words. "You mean to say that our combined magic kept them at bay?"

"Indeed. The two of you make a formidable team, if I may say so."

"We do," Draco breathed. "We did," he corrected himself, frowning.

"You should relay this information to her," Dumbledore suggested, moving towards the door. "I haven't the time, with it being so close to Christmas, and all that."

"I don't think that that's such a good idea," Draco murmured. "She didn't act as though she even cared that I was leaving."

"I think, Mister Malfoy, that you'll find Ms Weasley quite forgiving. It's one of her more admirable qualities. One among many, as I'm sure you already know." With that, the old man was gone.


	14. Chapter 15

16

Hermione stoked the fire for the third time in ten minutes. She rolled her eyes at her foolishness, and went into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. It was a normal Christmas for her, as far as Christmases went. The morning had come and gone with very little snow, and her tree had had several gifts beneath it from all of the parcels delivered by owl.

Actually, it was the first Christmas since Ron's death that she'd actually bothered to send other people gifts in return. She turned the Christmas music on and opened the oven door to check on the ham. Satisfied that it was finished, she removed it and sat it on the stovetop to cool a bit. She went into the living room and lit several cinnamon scented candles that she'd purchased a few days ago, and then flopped down on the sofa.

She had just picked up her steaming mug of cocoa and begun blowing on it when there was a knock at her door. She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd already had two groups of carolers and a visit from Molly and Arthur, which had made her come to the conclusion that she'd had enough visitors until next Christmas, thank you very much. She rose and went to the door, groaning silently when she saw who it was.

She opened the door and gave him her most brilliant smile. "Happy Christmas, Charlie." He wrapped her in a loose embrace, and after she'd stepped aside, he entered her home. She sat back down on the sofa and picked her mug back up. "Can I get you some cocoa or egg nog?"

"Nothing, thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I just came by to wish you a Happy Christmas."

"Well, thanks for that. It's lovely to see you again. How have you been?"

"Good, I've been good." He reached inside his cloak and withdrew a small, ornately decorated box. Hermione's heart plummeted into her stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, there was another knock at the door. She looked up in surprise – she hadn't expected anyone else to call at this late hour. She rose to her feet, grateful for the distraction. She opened the door without looking to see who it was, and was instantly frozen to the spot.

"Happy Christmas," he said, his voice low. She took in his red nose and expensive cloak before he peered past her. When he saw Charlie, he stiffened. "Are you going to invite me in, or am I just going to stand out here and freeze?"

"Of-of course not," she stammered, moving aside. "Please, come in." Draco moved past her and went straight into the living room, where he and Charlie stared each other down.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

"Draco, would you like some cocoa or egg nog?" Hermione asked, her voice calm and steady. He glanced at her, realizing that she'd used his first name. Charlie seemed to have noticed as well, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Cocoa would be fine."

"I'll have some too, Hermione," Charlie said quickly. Hermione said nothing, just nodded before she went into the kitchen. Draco lowered himself onto the sofa and watched as Charlie settled into the armchair. When Hermione returned with two steaming mugs, she struggled to hide her surprise at their choice of seating. She handed each of them their cocoa and chose to sit on the floor in front of the Christmas tree – a gesture that did not slip past Draco.

"Well," she began politely. "I never expected to have any visitors tonight, so two guests is a welcome reprieve. Are either of you staying for dinner?" Draco arched an eyebrow at her, but didn't speak.

"I'm afraid I can't," Charlie said, shaking his head. "Mum fixed her regular holiday meal, and she'd go round the twist if I didn't show."

"I'd love to stay," Draco said, smirking into his mug as he sipped at the hot liquid. Hermione bit down hard on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at the gobstruck look on Charlie's face.

"But I suppose Mum wouldn't be _too_ angry if I stayed just for a bit," he amended quickly.

"Wonderful," Hermione said, her jaw clenching slightly. Draco saw the movement and was amused by it as he realized that Hermione did not want Charlie there. He wondered if she felt the same way about his staying, as well. "Dinner is finished. Why don't we go and have a seat?"

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Draco said politely, heading toward the bathroom. Hermione and Charlie went into the kitchen, where he gave her an odd look.

"What in Merlin's name is _he_ doing here?"

"I invited him," Hermione said, slicing into the ham. "Although I must admit, I didn't think that he'd show up."

"You invited him?" Charlie echoed, his voice full of disbelief. "Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

"Charlie," she sighed, shaking her head. "Not that I have to explain myself to you, but if you must know, I rather enjoy his company."

"What? Since when?"

"Things change. People change. That's all there is to it." She clamped her lips shut, and Charlie got the hint that she was through discussing the subject. He sat down on one side of the table and thanked her as she sat a plate full of food in front of him. Draco entered the room seconds later and sat across from Charlie. Hermione placed a plate full of food in front of him as well, and then sat down at the head of the table with her own plate.

"So, Malfoy," Charlie began pleasantly. "What have you been up to lately? Anything interesting?"

"I sincerely doubt that you'd find my comings and goings interesting, Weasley."

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested."

"Bollocks," Draco said, arching an eyebrow.

"Fine," Charlie said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "We don't have to talk about you. Hermione, have _you_ done anything interesting lately?"

"Yes, _Hermione_," Draco said, stressing her name. "Have you done anyone interesting lately?"

Charlie glared at him. Hermione sighed. "I haven't done much of anything, Charlie, but thank you for asking. I think that the most interesting thing that I've done as of late was my recent trip to the local mall. I spent the entire day there – not really shopping, though."

"What on earth did you do all day, if you weren't shopping?" Charlie asked, taking a bite of his potatoes.

"Mostly I ate."

"You stayed at the mall all day just to eat?" Charlie asked. He gave a little laugh. "If you were hungry, why didn't you come to the Burrow to eat? Mum would gladly have fed you, you know that."

"Did it ever occur to you that she might _like_ to be alone?" Draco asked, forcing a smile.

"But you're such a people person," Charlie protested to Hermione.

"I used to be, perhaps," Hermione conceded, nodding. She'd finished her food and was now sipping her wine. "But for a long time now, I've preferred solitude. A visitor every now and again is about all the human contact I can tolerate anymore – although I've had more visitors today than I have in the last four years combined."

"Oh?" Draco asked nonchalantly, lifting his wine glass to his lips.

"Yes. Molly and Arthur were out here earlier, and now you and Charlie are here."

"Mum and Dad came out here to visit?" Charlie asked, surprised. "They didn't tell me about it."

"I think you'd be surprised at the things your parents don't tell you," Draco commented. The rest of the meal passed in silence, and Hermione found that just sitting between the men's obvious animosity towards one another was exhausting. After dinner, they all rose and went into the living room, where Hermione settled into her armchair, forcing both of the men to sit on the sofa together.

"Shall we exchange gifts now?" Charlie suggested.

"That's a fine idea," Hermione said, nodding. "I'm afraid I haven't sorted through anything under the tree, but I think that you'll be able to find yours down there somewhere." Charlie nodded and went to the tree to begin sifting through the pile of gifts. Hermione glanced at Draco, who was staring straight ahead at the wall. "Aren't you going to look for yours, Draco, or don't you want it?"

He turned surprised eyes towards her. "Mine?"

"Surely you didn't think that I'd invite you over and not buy you something?"

"I found mine and his," Charlie said, resuming his spot on the sofa. He shoved a small box at Draco, then proceeded to open his own – larger- box. He pulled out a hand-knitted scarf and hat, and beamed a smile at Hermione. "It's wonderful. Thanks, Hermione."

"You're welcome," she said, tucking her legs beneath her. Charlie stood and moved in front of her chair, ignoring the glare he was getting from Draco. He dropped to his knees and held out the small gift box he'd been holding earlier.

"I know that you don't think of me as more than a friend right now," he began, his voice soft and earnest. "But I'm willing to give it time if you'll reconsider." He handed her the box, which she took with a feeling of dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. She lifted the lid to find a delicate gold ring with a single ruby in the middle of it. Her eyes flew up, and her gaze was returned by cool, silver eyes.

"This is a very extravagant gift for a sister, Charlie," she began. He frowned and shook his head.

"You're not my sister," he said. "And it's not that extravagant."

"It's lovely, but I'm afraid I can't accept it."

"What? Why not?"

"I just can't, and if you do care about me the way you say you do, you won't push the issue. It's been lovely having you both here, but I'm afraid that I'm very tired now. I hope you won't think less of me for asking if you both know your way out – I suppose the strain of so many visitors today is finally getting to me." She stood and embraced Charlie, who looked extremely dejected, and then she turned to Draco.

"Happy Christmas." She gave him a watery smile, then disappeared into the hallway. Draco watched as Charlie headed towards the door.

"I've forgotten my cloak," he murmured. "Must go fetch it from the kitchen."

Charlie ignored him as he walked out the front door. Draco sat back down on the sofa with his gift in his lap. He unwrapped it slowly, not wanting to make too much noise as he opened it. He lifted the lid off of the box and stared. Inside a black velvet casing was a man's silver necklace. He removed it from the casing and fastened it around his neck, enjoying at once the heavy feel of it against his skin.

He pushed the box and wrappings aside and moved through the hallway, stopping in front of her closed bedroom door. He knocked softly, not wanting to disturb her if she had somehow managed to fall asleep in the short time since she'd left his presence.

"I'm really very tired, Draco," she called from the other side of the door. He smirked. She knew him well enough to know that he'd stayed after Charlie had gone, did she?

"It's very rude of you to invite me over and then spend the evening locked away in your room, kitten." The door flew open and she stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

"Don't call me that! And I believe that I asked you to leave along with Charlie."

"But you haven't opened my gift yet," he said smoothly. She blinked, and her arms fell to her sides.

"_Your_ gift? You brought me a gift?"

"You cut me to the quick, woman," he said, frowning. He began walking into the living room, and was pleased when she followed. He sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.

"I think I'll sit in my chair," she said, shaking her head. He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not going to bite you."

"I know you're not – oh, fine!" She threw up her hands in frustration as she lowered herself onto the sofa beside him. He reached into his pocket and handed her a small box, which she frowned at. She opened it and stared at its contents.

A thin silver ring was nestled inside the box. She looked up at him, her frown deepening. "What is this, some sort of joke?"

"Why would it be a joke?" he asked, his heart pounding wildly. It wasn't the reaction he'd hoped for, but at least she hadn't rejected his gift.

"Why would _you_ be giving me a ring? Have you given me the wrong box by mistake?" she asked, holding it out to him.

"No, the ring is meant for you. I bought it for you."

"You bought it for me," she echoed flatly. He nodded.

"It's yours." She studied his face for a moment, as if searching for something, then pulled the box back toward her and stared down at it.

"Thank you." She replaced the lid and clutched the box lightly in her hand. "You didn't have to bring me a gift, but it was very kind of you."

"Thank you for my gift," he said quietly. At this, her cheeks turned scarlet, and she turned her eyes to the tree.

"You're welcome."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you have a gift waiting for me? We parted on less than positive terms. How did you know that I would show up tonight?"

"I didn't," she breathed, still not looking at him.

"And what if I hadn't shown up?"

"I would have sent it to you anonymously."

"Why anonymously?"

"I wouldn't have wanted you to know that it was from me, that's all."

"Why won't you look at me?" he asked curiously. She sighed and turned her eyes toward the ceiling.

"I don't want to fight, Draco," she said tiredly.

"Who's fighting?"

"We fight – we _always_ do. It's what we do best, isn't it? I suppose that our last fight just took more out of me than I'd thought it would, and now I'm tired of fighting."

"Why did you even let me in, if you were just going to kick me out without talking to me?"

"I'd invited you, and I wasn't going to renege on that invitation. Besides, it was nice to see you again." His heart swelled at this admission.

"Aren't you going to ask why I came?"

"No," she said, finally turning her eyes to him. "I don't need to know why you came. It's enough to me that you did. Now if you'll excuse me-" She started to rise, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

"I want to see you wear it."

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"I want you to wear the ring. I don't want it to be something that you pretend you like, and then shove into the farthest recesses of your jewelry box in an attempt to forget about it."

"But I-"

"You refused his engagement ring. Don't refuse the one that I offer out of friendship."

"It wasn't an engagement ring," she denied, her cheeks flushing pink again as she turned her eyes back to the tree.

"It was, and you know it, otherwise you would have accepted it just like you accepted mine."

"I didn't accept yours just because it wasn't an engagement ring," she snapped.

"Then why did you accept it?"

"I liked it."

"And?"

"And what?"

"There's something else that you're not telling me, I can feel it." She shot up off of the sofa and turned to glare at him.

"Why must there always be something else?" she asked waspishly. "Isn't it enough that we made it through the evening without incident? Isn't it enough that we thought well enough of each other to have exchanged decent gifts? Why must there be more than that?" He stood and met her gaze unflinchingly.

"There doesn't have to be more than that, but there is, and we both know it."

"I don't know anything," she said, her eyes narrowing. "It's Christmas, Draco. Can't we just let it be?"

"Put it on," he said softly. She blinked, then rolled her eyes.

"Will you leave after I've put it on?" She opened the box and removed the ring. She started to slide it onto her thumb, but he stopped her.

"It doesn't go there."

"But it's too big for any of my other fingers!"

"It's charmed to fit whatever finger you put it on."

"Then why can't I wear it on my thumb?"

"Because it's not meant to go there. It's meant to go on one of your fingers."

"Fine!" She slid the ring onto her left middle finger and held it up for him to see. "Good enough for you?"

"Feeling a bit snarky tonight, are we, kitten?" he asked, barely containing his laughter.

"I told you to quit calling me that."

"And if I don't? What then?"

"Then nothing," she said, turning away from him. "Please leave, Draco."

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Why can't we just let things end on this positive note?"

"Let things end?" he echoed.

"Yes!" He grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him.

"Let's get one thing straight right now, kitten," he said, his voice husky. "Not a damned thing is ending."

"What?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly. "But- but I thought-"

"The only reason I left was because it was what I thought _you_ wanted. But do you know what I realized while I was sleeping alone in my bed at night?"

She shook her head hesitantly.

"I don't give a damn what you want." Suddenly his mouth had covered hers in a hungry kiss. She was so surprised at first that she didn't respond, but it didn't take long for him to coax a response from her. Her mouth opened to him, granting him access. The action elicited a moan from him.

He plunged his hands into her hair, holding her in place so he could kiss her as long as he wanted to. She had just touched her palms to his chest when the sound of the front door opening made Hermione pull away from him and turn towards the door.

Charlie was standing there, his mouth hanging open.

"I just realized that I'd forgotten my gift, and no one answered the door," he said, his betrayed expression focused on Hermione. She felt her neck and face flushing, and turned her eyes towards the floor. Charlie's glare focused on Draco. "So this is your game."

"What in the world are you nattering on about now, Weasley?" Draco asked calmly, his hand resuming its grip on Hermione's elbow.

"You moved in on my sister, and now you're trying to put the moves on Hermione? You must have a thing for Weasleys."

"No, I just have a thing for exceptional women." Hermione's heart fluttered wildly in her chest, but she didn't make a move. Charlie glanced down and saw the new ring on Hermione's finger, and his jaw clenched.

"So what is that, a promise ring, or something?" Hermione's head shot up at this and she opened her mouth to correct Charlie.

"What if it is? What are you going to do about it, Weasley?" Hermione glared at Draco and yanked her arm free of his grasp.

"It's not, Charlie. It's just a trinket he gave me in friendship, that's all."

"The hell it is," Draco interjected, his brow furrowed in anger. Hermione's head whipped around.

"That's what you said it was."

"That's what I told you initially, to get you to put the bloody thing on! If I'd told you it carried any other meaning, you would have chucked it aside just like you did his ring." Charlie's face colored.

"Well, you can stop this little charade to make Charlie jealous, because it doesn't have any other meaning."

"That ring was only meant to effect one Weasley, and I assure you, it wasn't him."

"What?"

"You just seemed so hell bent on putting me in my place that you didn't want to even entertain the thought that I might have come to repair the rift I created two weeks ago."

"What?" Charlie asked, his face showing his surprise.

"You're not making any sense," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"I'm making perfect sense, kitten, and you know it."

"Kitten?" Charlie asked in surprise.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, the hurt manifesting itself in her eyes.

"What kind of sick, twisted game is this, Malfoy?" Charlie demanded.

"It's not a game at all," Draco said, his eyes locked on Hermione's. "I've just come back to claim what's mine, is all." Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"To claim what's _yours?_" Charlie asked, snorting. "Hermione is not now, has never been, and will never be _yours_."

"Oh? I think that if you ask the lady, you might find otherwise." Hermione's lower lip trembled.

"Not a game," Hermione whispered, staring at Draco, taking in the seriousness of his face. He shook his head once, his jaw set, showing his determination. "Not… not a game," she repeated, her knees starting to wobble.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Charlie's voice was full of concern. He took a step forward, but Draco's glare shot daggers at him.

"By all means, keep moving towards her," Draco dared him through clenched teeth. "Give me an excuse."

"An excuse for what?" Charlie asked defiantly. "To prove what you really are?"

"Charlie," Hermione said warningly. "Don't." Draco's entire body filled with emotion at that one word. Charlie ignored her.

"Is that ring charmed to sap Hermione's energy and ultimately kill her? Then you'd have two under your belt, wouldn't you, Malfoy?"

"Charlie," Hermione said again, lifting angry eyes to him. "I mean it. Don't."

"You're going to be in a world of hurt if you don't listen to the lady," Draco said smoothly. "I may have called her kitten, but she's nothing short of a wildcat."

"You're disgusting," Charlie seethed. "To have corrupted my sweet little sister, and now to move on to Hermione like this… she's a widow, for Merlin's sake! Couldn't you go and prey on one of the whores that frequent Knockturn Alley?" Draco's eyebrows went up in amusement.

"And how would you know that that's where the whores spend their time?" Charlie blushed, and Draco's mouth curved into a smirk. "And correct me if I'm wrong here, even though we both know that I'm not – but aren't _you_ chasing after a widow, as well?"

"I'm not like you," Charlie spat. "I'm a good person. There's nothing good about you."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," Draco said coolly. "There's something profoundly good about me, and she's sitting right here." Hermione looked up at him in surprise, and Charlie glanced at her as she did. When he saw the look on her face, he took a step backward.

"You-" he gasped, pointing at her. "You have feelings for him!"

"What?" she asked, turning to look at him. He too another step backward.

"You have feelings for that monster!"

"He's not a monster," she snarled, her temper finally getting the better of her. "And I'm tired of you saying that!" Draco turned as he heard glass shattering in the kitchen. The flames on the candles shot high into the air.

"You've been blinded," Charlie breathed. "You can't see past him to see what he really is. You _know_ what he is; what he's capable of! Don't you remember how he's treated you?"

"I remember," Hermione said, nodding. Draco's head whipped around as the lights began flickering on and off. "And I know that he remembers. It's enough to keep us from repeating our mistakes."

"You went from my brother to this?" Charlie looked at Draco in utter disgust. Hermione had had enough.

"Get out, Charlie, before I _make_ you leave." Charlie frowned, and then without another word, turned and stormed out the door. It slammed behind him, and the deadbolts fastened, even though they remained untouched.

"You're a bit intimidating, pet," Draco said softly, touching his fingertips to her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch, and he noted that the lights steadied, followed by the flames in the candles returning to normal size. "I think that if he'd seen much more of your power, he might have wet himself."

Hermione laughed softly, and then turned her face away from Draco. "I don't think that even you have ever gotten me that mad before."

"Don't take my glory away, kitten," he said, smirking at her. "No one can get under your skin quite like I can."

"I suppose you're right," she conceded, still not looking at him.

"And you know that no one can get under my skin quite like you, either." At this, she turned slightly. The look on his face made her scalp tingle and heat flood through her.

"Can't they?"

"You know that they can't," he whispered, stepping closer. He moved so that they were standing face to face, their noses almost touching. "You _are_ under my skin, Hermione."

Her eyes shot up to meet his at the sound of her name, and he reached for her hand. When he was holding it in his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and began to sway with her to the soft Christmas music that was still playing in the background. "You've been calling me Draco all night, do you realize that?"

She shook her head, too entranced by their dancing to find her voice. "I came here with one thing in mind, and it wasn't to eat dinner with you, or fight with you, or exchange gifts."

"What did you come here for?" she asked breathlessly.

"I came here to tell you how I felt."

"I thought that you made that pretty clear the night you left."

"Don't be stupid, woman. I've been working up to this all night, and now you're going to talk and ruin it all." She gave him a soft laugh and shook her head.

"I'll be quiet, if you promise me that what you have to say is interesting."

"It is – and if you keep talking, I'll be forced to silence you by whatever means I deem necessary."

"Fine."

"When I got home that night, Dumbledore was waiting at my flat for me. He wasn't the only one, though. Molly and Arthur were both there." Hermione's eyes reflected her surprise.

"What? What did they want? They didn't come to start a –" her voice died as he covered her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly. When she was breathless, he pulled away slightly.

"I told you I'd shut you up," he whispered, his voice throaty. She gazed up at him wordlessly. "Quite pleasant, actually, to see you in this state. Maybe you should keep talking, after all."

"Go on," she said, when she'd regained her voice.

"Dumbledore was there to tell me that my name had been cleared. He also told me that my fortune had been restored to me, and-"

"Oh, Draco! That's so-" Another kiss, and Hermione began to tremble. Draco's arm tightened around her waist, holding her up.

"Dumbledore also told me that the magic detectors had started going off shortly after I got here." Hermione's mouth opened, but when he arched an eyebrow at her, she clamped it shut again. He smirked. "You learn quickly, but it's not as much fun when you play by the rules."

Hermione just smirked back at him.

"I asked him why there hadn't been any attacks after the detectors had gone off, and he said that there had been – we'd just managed to thwart them without knowing it. It turns out that we're quite a force to be reckoned with, pet. Our combined desire not to be bothered by anyone did more than push us together; it kept intruders out."

"Oh," she breathed softly, digesting this new bit of information.

"And then I found out something else just as interesting. It turns out that Molly knew before she visited you that I was here." Hermione's jaw dropped. "She had actually come to get me, but when she saw how you were defending me by still hiding me, she decided not to mention why she'd really come for a visit. She did mention something to me about it at my flat, though."

Hermione waited impatiently for him to continue. He grinned wickedly at her. "I can't decide whether or not I like you as the silent, obedient type, or whether I like you better when you're-" His words were cut off as her lips descended on his. She kissed him slowly, taking her time in exploring his mouth. The hand that was resting on his shoulder moved up to play with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. He moaned before she broke the kiss, and she smirked up at him.

"That's not fair," he whispered. "You're not allowed to turn my own rules against me like that."

"I can do anything I want," she corrected him. "If you can break rules, then so can I." He grinned at her. "Now make with the rest of the story."

"She told me that she hadn't said anything because you looked better than you had since your husband died." Hermione's cheeks turned pink, and she looked down.

"Is that right."

"That's not all," he said, turning her as they continued to dance. "She told Arthur that you were clearly a woman in love." Hermione's eyes shot up.

"What?" she breathed.

"She told me that she knew that you were in love, and with _me_, wonder of wonders. Then she proceeded to question me about my feelings for you."

"And what did you say to her?"

"I told her that you didn't love me – it wasn't possible," he said, watching her expression very carefully. When she averted her eyes and her cheeks turned crimson, his heart threatened to burst free from his chest. "And I refused to tell her how I felt about you."

"Oh."

"Then she told me what an idiot I was, to walk away from someone who loved me. And she's right."

"What?" Hermione asked, slowly raising her eyes to meet his.

"_If_ you love me, that is," he murmured, his eyes roaming over her face. "If you don't love me, then it was a smart move for me to walk away. But if you do love me, then it was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and I came back today to find out one way or the other – is it true?"

"Do I love you, you mean?"

"That's what I mean."

"I don't know what to say," she said honestly. He frowned.

"Just say that you love me, or you don't."

"But I don't want – I mean, if we're going to try and be friends, I don't want to-" He pressed himself against her, causing her to gasp.

"Does this feel like I just want to be friends?"

"I don't want to get hurt," she protested softly. "But I don't want to be someone you just used out of convenience, either." His parting words came back to slap him in the face, and he stopped dancing with her as he pulled away slightly.

"I didn't mean a word of it, and you know it. I wouldn't be here if I'd meant it."

"I know," she said, nodding. She licked her lips and looked down at the floor as she considered her next words carefully. "It means a lot to me that you came tonight. It didn't turn out like I'd hoped, but it's been an interesting Christmas, to say the least."

"It isn't over yet," he said, feeling confused. She hadn't answered his question yet, and it was making him nervous.

"I know. I wonder how it will end," she commented, her eyes locked on his.

"I'm waiting with bated breath to find out," he said honestly.

"Shall I end the suspense, then?"

"Please."

"Molly interferes in everything. If she hadn't said that to you, would you even be here?"

"In all actuality… definitely."

"Really?"

"I could never stay away." There was a pregnant pause, then: "Was she wrong?"

"I can't honestly say that she was," she said softly, biting her lower lip. He stared openly at her. "So, don't let her know that she was right, because she delights in saying 'I told you so.'"

"You-"

"When you stare at me like that, you make me feel like I'm a sideshow attraction in the carnival," she said, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. His mouth closed and he stared at her for so long that she began to feel dizzy from the sheer weight of her emotions.

"Please, say something," she whispered.

"Say it," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Say the words. I want to hear you say them."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I love you."

"Open your eyes and look at me when you say them." She obeyed and opened her eyes.

"I love you, Draco."

DENY


	15. Chapter 16

15

He stared at her, his hands trembling. Hot tears welled up and slid down her cheeks as she waited for him to say something. She brushed them away angrily, ashamed at herself for exposing her heart to him with so little coaxing.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, gesturing helplessly with her hands. "This was a huge mistake." She removed the ring from her finger and held it out to him. When he made no move to take it from her, she stomped her foot. "For Merlin's sake, Draco, just take the damned ring!"

"I gave it to you," he said finally. "It's yours. I don't want it."

"Fine," she said, placing it on the end table. She tried taking several deep breaths to calm herself, but it wasn't working. She was too close to him, and she was becoming agitated under his continued scrutiny. She had to get out.

She left the room quickly and went into her bedroom, where she grabbed her coat. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and buttoned it up quickly, then turned and moved through the hallway and out the front door before Draco had a chance to say anything to her.

She ran as fast as she could, her tears blurring her vision. She had no idea where she was going, and didn't really care at the moment. All she knew was that she'd confessed her feelings to Draco, and he hadn't said anything to her in return – he'd just stared at her as though she were a blast-ended skrewt. It had hurt her more than she'd ever thought it would, too.

She'd realized that she'd fallen in love with him exactly six hours and forty seven minutes after he'd left, and it had devastated her. She'd cried the rest of the evening and most of the next day. After that, she'd realized that his leaving was probably for the best; after all, hadn't he told her that it would all end badly?

Well, it had. Even though she'd never planned on telling him, she'd imagined hundreds of different scenarios where she would tell him, and afterwards he would take her into his arms and whisper words of love in her ear as he made love to her. She sobbed harder at the thought. Somehow in her mind, the imagined confessions had turned into hope, and the hope had taken hold of her entire being.

When he'd shown up earlier tonight, she'd been amazed. She'd been even more amazed when he'd tolerated Charlie's presence (to some degree, anyway), and waited him out so that he could be alone with her and give her his gift.

She was too afraid to hope that the ring meant anything more than friendship, but then he'd kissed her. And, oh! How the time apart, short as it was, had dimmed the memory of his lips! They amazed her – his body already seemed to know hers by heart, and every touch, every glance, set her on fire.

And he'd danced with her. Danced with her, and kissed her, over and over again. She thought that when he'd mentioned Molly and her observations that he actually wanted her to say that what Molly had said was true, but now she knew that she'd ruined things. Why couldn't she have just been happy with what he'd offered? Instead, she'd proclaimed strong feelings for him, and had stunned him into silence.

She stopped walking and fell to her knees in the snow as she cried. What had she done? Why had she allowed things to progress to this point? She covered her face with her hands and shook violently with the force of her emotions.

Suddenly he was there, falling to his knees in the snow in front of her, wrapping his arms around her. She was past the point of caring, and buried her face in the front of his coat as she cried. He whispered soothing words that she couldn't make out and his hands gently rubbed her back.

Then he was in front of her, stretching her legs out and removing her shoes. She looked up in surprise – he'd transported them both back inside of her house, and she was sitting on the sofa in front of the blazing fire. She looked down at him, her mouth open slightly, and tears still running down her face.

He didn't look up at her – he just went about removing her shoes and coat, and then went into the kitchen. When he returned moments later, he was carrying two mugs of steaming cocoa. He handed her one, which she curled her frozen fingers around. She stared down into the mug, still crying silently.

He sipped at his mug silently for a long time. When he saw that she'd finally finished her drink, he cleared his throat. "You didn't have to leave like that."

"Yes, I did," she said. "And you didn't have to rescue me, either. I can take care of myself."

"But I'm so much better at it," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. She looked up and frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm so much better at taking care of you. Don't you agree? Look how I just let you run out into the freezing weather and almost get frostbitten. No one could have done that for you quite like I did."

"Draco, what _are_ you nattering on about?"

"I'm sure Weasley would have never let you out the front door," he said bitterly. She sighed and stared into the fire.

"What does Charlie have to do with this?" she asked tiredly.

"Nothing, except that I saw the way he looked at you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He would be good to you, you know. He'd take care of you." She stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Now you're trying to encourage me to be with him?" she asked, shocked. Hurt flooded through her. He was trying to pawn her off on Charlie because of her admission of feelings toward him? How dare he! "You're right – perhaps I should send him an owl this very moment and tell him that I've reconsidered, and I can't wait to marry him!"

Draco looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Isn't that what you just told me to do?" she asked, frustrated.

"I thought you didn't do what I told you to," he pointed out.

"I don't! Damn it, Draco, don't turn this around on me!" The flames in the fireplace shot up. "I thought you weren't playing games!"

"I'm not!"

"It sure as hell looks like it to me!"

"What? Woman, have you gone _completely _insane?"

"I should think the answer to that was obvious," she snapped. "I told you what you wanted to hear, even though when I said it, it clearly wasn't what you wanted to hear anymore, and yet you're still in my home! So yes, I am obviously insane!"

She placed her empty mug on the coffee table with more force than was necessary, causing a small crack to appear. Draco stared at her in amazement.

"You really mean it."

"Mean what?" she retorted angrily, folding her arms over her chest.

"What you said." She leveled a glare at him.

"I am not in the habit of saying things that I don't mean, especially when they're of that caliber."

"I thought you were having me on," he said, tilting his head to one side as he looked at her. Her eyebrows shot up.

"You're a moron, then." She turned her eyes back to the fire. "But then again, you always have been."

"Excuse me?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"You heard me."

"You think I'm-" his voice died, and an incredulous look crossed his face. It slowly turned into a smirk of epic proportions. "You're _baiting_ me again!" he accused.

"I most certainly am not!"

"If you want me to stay the night, kitten, all you have to do is ask."

"Oh, right," she said waspishly, rolling her eyes. "I forgot, Draco Malfoy, God's gift to undersexed widows everywhere."

"You said it, not me," he said, highly amused.

"I am not baiting you for anything, Draco," she said. "I'm amazed that you have the gall to sit here and try to carry on any sort of conversation with me, in light of the events of the last month."

"The gall?" he echoed, his eyebrows shooting up. "You want to talk about gall, pet? We'll talk about gall. Let's talk about how you tumbled me in your bed and never let on as to what you were _really _feeling about it. Let's talk about how welcome you made me feel, and how _nice_ you were to me, and then turned around and threw a gift back in my face when I didn't respond as quickly as you would have liked me to."

"Tumbled you in my bed?" she repeated, her lips tightening into a line. "I think that you're forgetting who made the first move, here."

"I'm forgetting nothing."

"Oh, really? What about me trying to slap you, and instead you turned it on me and tumbled me on the floor?"

"Best moment of your life, that was," he said angrily. "And don't act like it was anything else."

"It was degrading!"

"It was a bloody revelation!" he said, his voice rising. "And I know that you enjoyed every moment of it! Has your precious suitor ever made you feel that way?" Her cheeks and neck flushed pink.

"You know, I think I recall you saying something to the effect of you could never be jealous over me, because being jealous would imply that you _cared_ about me! For someone who doesn't care, you really are starting to sound like a jealous boyfriend!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might care, after all?" he shouted. She was shocked into silence. "Did it ever occur to you that I might be _frightened_ of the way I felt about you?"

"Frightened? Why?" She frowned, confused.

"I came here with the memory of you in school burned into my mind's eye. I came here expecting trouble and anger and retribution on your part, because of all the hell I put you through at Hogwarts. I didn't expect to actually _care_ about you!"

"It would be stupid to hold a grudge against you, when you had so many other things to deal with," she said, her brow furrowing in renewed anger. "And I wouldn't have retaliated against you when you were, for all intents and purposes, trapped here. That's something _you'd_ do."

His face fell.

"Maybe before, you're right," he admitted, nodding. "But not anymore. I came here as one person and left as another. Being with you changed me."

"I'm sure it won't take you too long to put that behind you and get back to normal," she said, sighing.

"I don't want to go back to the way I was before," he said quietly.

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't want to go back to a place where I'm without you." She looked at him in surprise, and he gave her a knowing half-smile. "You told me how you felt, but didn't give me time to absorb what you'd said before you ran out on me."

"Is that what that was?" she asked, trying not to sound breathless. "You _absorbing?"_

"Okay, maybe it was more… _basking_than it was absorbing, but they're both practically the same thing."

"Only to you," she pointed out.

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging. "My point is that you didn't wait around for my reaction. You automatically assumed the worst of me, and subsequently acted like a spoiled brat because of it."

She frowned at him. "Are you _trying_ to make me angry? Because it's starting to work."

"Hermione," he said seriously, his grin fading. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at her, and his hair fell over his forehead. "I'm used to other people assuming the worst of me. I welcome it, even. But it hurts, coming from you."

She stared at him, her lower lip beginning to tremble slightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Can I have a second chance to react to your words?"

"A second chance?" she echoed. He nodded.

"Tell me again how you feel, and let me respond before you run out on me."

"Right," she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at him. "I've already said it twice. This sounds like a ploy just to get me to say it again."

"Maybe," he said neutrally. "You've already said it twice, and I know you mean it now. Will it really hurt to tell me again?" She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap now.

"It will hurt me," she admitted. "I know that I have a reputation for being stubborn and I have the tendency not to budge when it comes to things I'm passionate about, but I refuse to throw myself against a brick wall."

"Are you calling me thick?" he teased.

"Draco, I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too," he said, moving to sit closer to her. He locked eyes with her as he reached out to brush her cheek with his fingers. "Please, tell me again. I need to hear you say it."

"I don't know if I can," she said hesitantly, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

"When have you ever doubted that you could do anything?" he asked peevishly. She took a deep breath.

"I don't know why I'm being so open with you, since I _do_ know you, and I know how you like to turn things around on people. I know that this could backfire on me," she said, shaking her head. "I don't pretend to understand what happened between us when you were stuck here," she began.

"I think we both understand what happened," he interrupted, smirking. "Anyone who's familiar with basic human anatomy knows what happened."

"I really _could_ do without your five-year-old comments, you know," she snapped, annoyed. He closed his mouth, but continued to smirk at her. "I don't know why I bother! You're so aggravating, I don't understand how it happened! You've never stopped bothering me long enough for me to have actually fallen in love with you!"

"You're every bit as annoying to me now as you were at Hogwarts," he said, his eyes narrowing. "So it comes as a bit of a surprise to me, as well."

"If you don't believe it, then why are we even having this conversation?" she asked, throwing up her hands in frustration. "This is ridiculous, to keep rehashing the details like we are, especially if there's no future for us on the horizon!" He studied her face for a moment before he spoke.

"So that's it, then."

"What's what?"

"Your holdup – the reason you won't say it again."

"You're not making any sense."

"I'm making perfect sense, kitten," he drawled slowly. "You're afraid to tell me again because you think that we have no future together." She snorted and stared at the blazing fire.

"I never exactly pictured a house with a white picket fence to begin with," she said, shaking her head.

"I don't-"

"I know you don't want that," she said bitterly. "You're the type who'll probably remain a bachelor for the rest of his life."

"I won't be alone," he protested. She turned and met his eye.

"I never said you would be alone, Draco. I said you'd be a bachelor. I'm sure you'll find plenty of women to keep your bed warm, but I'm just as sure that you'll never marry any of them."

"You're right," he said, his silvery eyes locked on hers. "I'll never marry anyone who's just kept my bed warm." She broke their gaze and looked at the fire again. "What made you want to settle down?"

"What?"

"What made you so sure that Weasley was the one for you?" A watery smile appeared on her face.

"I wasn't sure, at first," she admitted. "Ron was very hard to get along with. He and I fought constantly, and we had some pretty bad rows before things got better."

"When did they get better?"

"Not too long after the Yule Ball in our fourth year," she said, her eyes sparkling. "He was so jealous of Viktor. We got into a particularly bad fight that night, and the next year or so was pretty strained. It wasn't until our sixth year that he asked me out, and that was only because Harry threatened to ask me out if he didn't."

"I always thought Potter had a thing for you," Draco said, amused.

"No, I don't think he did," Hermione confided. "I think he only did it because he suspected that Ron did, and he wanted to help him realize it."

"Surprising," Draco murmured, although his voice indicated that he wasn't in the least bit surprised.

"Ron was so sweet after that," she said quietly. "I'll always remember the day he told me that he loved me for the first time. It was late afternoon right before Christmas, and we were in Hogsmeade together. Harry had gone into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Ron had stayed outside with me. He sat down with me in the snow and told me." Draco looked down at his hands for a moment. The sheer happiness present on her face was almost painful to look at.

"You loved him a great deal, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Is it the same way that you love me?"

"It's very different," she whispered. She stared down at her hands. "With Ron, everything was soft and sweet and relaxed. With you, it's sharp and intense and… and sometimes painful."

"Intense," he echoed softly.

"Intense," she agreed, still staring at her hands. "That's not to say that you don't have sweet moments, as much as you probably don't want to hear it."

"I've been sweet? When?"

"That morning after," she admitted, twiddling her fingers nervously. "In the kitchen. Standing there with you and talking and having you so close – it was nice. I wish we'd had more moments like that."

"I've thought of myself in a lot of terms, but sweet was never one of them."

"You can be," she said decisively. "You have a very soft side to you, I think, if you'd ever let anyone in to see it."

"You saw it."

"I think it was an accident on your part. You never let your defenses down. You never relax long enough to let anyone near you – you would never have done it on purpose."

"I don't want that ring back. I bought it for you."

"I don't need expensive gifts," she said, shaking her head. "You don't need to buy me off as though I were a common prostitute."

"Do you honestly think that that's what I was trying to do by giving it to you?" he asked, his voice tinged with anger. "Pay you for services rendered?"

"I don't know. Isn't it?"

"Then what were you doing to me, by giving me an expensive gift, as well? Trying to pay _me?_"

"No!" she protested, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. "I thought you might like it – that it might help you feel more like you used to."

"And how is that?"

"Spoiled. Pampered. Rich. I don't know!"

"You wanted to make me feel like I used to? Like when I hated you?"

"What an idiotic question!" she snapped, her temper flaring. "And really, why are you even still here? I'm tired of arguing! Get out!" She stood and took a step towards the door before she ran into an invisible wall. She whirled around to glare at him. "Let me go!"

"And let you just kick me out of your life like this?" he asked, standing. "Oh, I don't think so, kitten. It's not going to be that easy."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, desperation setting in.

"I want you to say it again."

"I can't," she said, turning away from him. Suddenly he was behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She closed her eyes and tried not to shiver when she felt his breath near her ear.

"You can, but you won't."

"I told you, I refuse to be hurt again. Please leave."

"I don't think you really mean that."

"I do."

"Prove it," he whispered, catching her ear gently in his teeth. She sucked in a quick breath. "Tell me you _don't_ love me." She felt her hair being brushed aside, and then his lips were on her neck, rendering her almost completely breathless.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," she whispered, trembling. "I want you to leave me alone and let me live in peace."

"You can't say it," he accused gently, kissing the place where her neck met her shoulder. "Because you do love me."

"Did you come here to torture me? Why can't you just end things on a good note?"

"I told you, Hermione. Nothing is ending."

"So you're just going to come to me whenever you feel like it, and have your way with me?" He chuckled softly.

"While that sounds like a lovely idea, I have no doubt that if I walked out of here tonight, I wouldn't be able to get back in the next time I sought you out."

"Then what?" He gripped the hem of her jumper and tugged up on it, pulling it over her head without protest from her. He tossed it onto the couch and reveled in the sounds of her arousal as his hands traveled over her bare stomach.

"You're mine now," he whispered in her ear. "You were mine from the moment I touched you. You'll never belong to another man." His hands moved up to gently cup her breasts, and she gasped.

"Ah," she murmured.

"Say it. Tell me you're mine." He began to knead her breasts gently, and she shuddered.

"I – I'm yours," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Now tell me that you love me." His hands moved slowly down her body, sliding beneath the waistband of her slacks and coming to rest at the apex of her thighs.

"I love you," she cried, hot tears making their way down her cheeks. He withdrew his hands and turned her around to face him. His mouth slid onto hers as he tangled his fingers in her hair. He held her there for a long moment, kissing her into oblivion. Her lips grew sore, and still he kissed her. She tasted her own tears, and still he kissed her. She was lightheaded, and still he kissed her.

When he finally pulled away from her, her lips were swollen and she was breathless. She met his eyes, and was surprised to see warmth emanating from them in waves that were almost palpable.

"Why didn't you just tell me when I asked, love?"

"What did you just call me?" she breathed in amazement. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as he smiled softly at her.

"You heard me." At her continued look of awe, he chuckled. "Don't tell me you prefer kitten, after all?"

"I-I-" she stuttered.

"I've no intention of ever letting another man touch you," he whispered, staring intently at her. "And I've no intention of leaving here tonight, so you can just stop asking me to. I was trying to tell you earlier, before we exchanged words, that I wanted a second chance to react to your words. Well, there it was. Are you as disappointed as you were before?"

She shook her head dazedly.

"Will you keep my ring?"

She nodded once.

"Even if it means accepting that it was given in more than friendship?"

She nodded again.

"Even if it means accepting that it was given with a _lot_ more than friendship in mind?"

"How much more?" she breathed.

"Say it again." Her bottom lip began trembling.

"I love you, Draco."

"Damn right you do," he whispered, his lips descending on hers. As soon as their tongues touched, she felt as though she was being burned alive. Her skin was on fire everywhere his hands were. She pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Her hands were cool against his chest, causing him to groan. Her fingers were everywhere – on his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his back. He pulled her slacks down and nearly burst when he felt her cool fingers against the skin of his stomach, unfastening the buttons on his jeans.

When their clothes were gone and there were no barriers left between them, he lowered her gently to the floor in front of the fire. He was above her, propped up on his hands, looking her in the eye when he took a deep breath.

"What are you going to do with this house when you move in with me?" She frowned, and her hands stopped moving on his shoulders.

"What?"

"Will you sell it?"

"I'm not moving into the Manor."

"Why not?"

"What would people say about you, moving your Mudblood Mistress in?" she snorted. She tried to pull him down for another kiss, but he wouldn't budge.

"I don't intend on having a Mistress, Hermione."

"I'd be a sorry excuse for a roommate, then."

"I'm not asking for a roommate, either."

"You want me to join your harem?" she asked uncertainly.

"I haven't got a –" he stopped and a large smirk appeared on his face. "Well, I _won't_ have a harem."

"I don't really feel like talking right now, Draco."

"Then it's settled, and when I leave in the morning, you'll come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You expect me to move in here?"

"I don't expect anything from you," she said softly.

"I know you don't," he murmured, planting tiny kisses on her cheeks and forehead. "And that's what makes me want to give it to you."

"Give what to me?"

"The white picket fence." She rolled her eyes.

"I don't need any home improvements, thanks."

"I didn't mean literally, I meant metaphorically. I know what the white picket fence symbolizes to you – a happily ever after."

"That's the stuff of fairy tales," she scoffed.

"You had it, once upon a time." The teasing glint in his eyes was hard to resist, and she smiled.

"You're stupid. Do you realize everything that goes along with the picket fence? A home, marriage, love, children. They're things that you would never give me."

"Might have given you children already," he said, his expression serious. "We never used contraceptives of any sort – Muggle or magical." A slightly panicked look crossed her face as the gravity of his statement hit her hard.

"Oh, no."

"Would it be such a bad thing? A baby, I mean?"

"You've gone mental," she accused, her eyes frightened. "Draco Malfoy, with a _baby?_"

"You said I _wouldn't_ give you those things, not that I _couldn't_. You're wrong."

"I should have said couldn't," she amended, embarrassed.

"You're still wrong," he said softly, watching her expression closely. She gave him a puzzled look.

"I don't understand."

"I want you to come to the Manor and live with me – not as my Mistress or as my roommate, but as my wife." Her eyes widened.

"Your _what?_"

"My wife. I want you to marry me and give me so many children that they fill all the rooms in the Manor."

"Draco, if you want children-"

"Don't tell me to adopt or marry someone pureblooded, because neither of those things will work. I want _you_ to have my children, and I won't accept anything less."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you."

"You –" her voice died with her ability to form a coherent sentence. He bent and brushed his lips lightly against hers before trailing slow kisses across her jawline and down her throat. When his tongue touched the highly sensitive skin at the base of her neck, she moaned and tried to pull him closer. She was disappointed when he pulled away slightly.

"You said you loved me with an intensity that you didn't feel with your first husband. I never want that to change, Hermione. I want you to feel as passionately about me as I do about you, and I just couldn't live with myself if you didn't."

"What are you saying?"

"If you have any feelings for Weasley – any at all – then you'd better tell me now and get it over with. I will not be made a fool of."

"Charlie is my brother, nothing more."

"Then will you be my wife?" She gazed up at him in something akin to wonder.

"You love me? You're not just saying it to make me feel better about the prostitute comments?"

"Do you really think that if I considered you my whore that I would even _pretend_ anything otherwise?"

"No, I know you wouldn't," she murmured. She reached up and gently swept the hair away from his face with the back of her hand. "But marriage is a big step, Draco, and we've not been together long."

"We have a lifetime ahead of us, and I don't intend to waste a second of it," he answered. "I'm absolutely sure that I want you to marry me. Are you unsure?"

"No, I know my heart."

"And?"

"And if you truly want me to, I will marry you." A smile like a sunrise burst across his face, and she touched her fingertips gently to his lips. His smile was so beautiful, it made her entire body ache.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Draco Malfoy."

He lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his. An unspeakable joy sang throughout her body– Draco loved her, and he was going to marry her. He wanted her to have his children.

Perhaps happily ever afters did exist, after all.

DENY


End file.
